Finding a Supernatural Life
by Wish I Was a Winchester
Summary: She hadn't REALLY meant it when she prayed to the angels- but they didn't hear that, did they? A fourteen year old girl is sent into the world of her favorite tv show, starting with Season One, Episode One. SPOILERS(duh)
1. Origins

**Chapter 1: Origins**

 **I've had this idea in my head for a while now, and there aren't that many stories about it. Basically, a girl is sucked into the universe of Sam and Dean Winchester- starting in the first season. Most of the actions of her are basically what I would do in this situation.**

 **Please review!**

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The loud crash of thunder resonated outside of the two-story house, sound waves shaking the walls. A flash of lightning briefly illuminated the room in which a young girl, only 14 years of age, lay curled under piles of blankets. Her phone was the only constant source of light in the room, playing out scenes from the ninth season of Supernatural. Suddenly, she turned off her phone and placed it face down on her bed. She let out an almost inhuman squeal- the sound of a fangirl. She laughed out loud, glad that her mom was asleep downstairs- it was 11:35 pm- and her older brothers were at their grandparents' house. She picked up her phone and unlocked it using the fingerprint identification on the home button, before almost immediately putting it back down. She squealed once more, tears of laughter pricking her eyes.

"Dean, you goddamn idiot," she muttered, sighing. A breathy laughter escaped her, before she sat up and stretched. She had just witnessed the older Winchester brother let 'Ezekiel'(or Gadreel, as she knew, having seen many spoilers) possess Sam. She leaned back against her stack of pillows, plugging her phone into the charger beside her bed. She leaned over to set the alarm for the morning, before once more sinking into the warm embrace of her bed.

The girl folded her hands against her stomach and closed her eyes. While she was an atheist, unlike her family, that didn't stop her from mock praying to the angels of Supernatural.

"Castiel," she murmured under her breath. "Gabriel, Hell, even Lucifer, if any of you are real, than just, please, just let me part of the Supernatural universe. But," she chuckled, "at least send my things along with me."

She laughed once more, opening her eyes and staring at the ceiling as her eyes adjusted to the absence of light. A swirling pattern of blues and greens mesmerized her- the same thing she saw every night. She blew air out through her lips, trying to find shapes within the mess of colours. The last thing she saw as she closed her eyes was a flash of white light, illuminating the inside of her eyelids a brilliant red.


	2. Winchesters

**Chapter Two: Winchesters**

 **First of all, THANK YOU FOR REVIEWS, the two guests, FangirlJewel, weregirl21, and bitchy-statue! Second of all, I have finally mastered the art of lightly jumping over all the crap in my bed. Third of all,** _ **there are no angels in this chapter. I repeat, no real angels in the chapter.**_ **And FOURTH of all(last one, I promise), if her reactions to meeting them seem too chill for a fangirl, let's just say she's a good actress, m'kay? Don't worry, she'll fangirl in private. Also, sorry if it seems like Sam and Dean trusted her too easily, I just wanted to get this part done and over with. ( :,'**

Lucille brought her hands to her head, massaging her temples. A headache pounded against her skull, moonlight illuminating the inside of her eyelids. Her brain sped up, the gears in her head turning quickly. There shouldn't be that much light in her room- the curtains made sure of that. And why did it feel like she was sleeping on pile of dirt? Her eyes snapped open.

"Oh, _Hells no_ ," she cursed under her breath, sitting up. She looked around. She was surrounded by bushes and trees, branches crisscrossing overhead. She stood up in the middle of the small clearing, brushing the dirt from her clothes and hair. She figured her brother must have come home late last night and "pranked" her by tossing her outside- not a very funny prank, in her opinion. It wasn't even the first time he had done it. He liked to take advantage of the fact that she was a very heavy sleeper. However, this was the farthest out he had ever brought her. Usually it was just outside the front door, and never this early in the morning. It was usually about ten minutes before her alarm went off, so she wouldn't be left outside asleep for two long.

She found a duffel bag by the edge of the clearing. Opening it, she soon realized it was filled with some of her things- phone charger, earbuds, computer, a couple sets of clothes, etc. Her eyes narrowed, sorting through the items in confusion. Finally, her eyes landed on her phone, and she scrambled for it desperately. She froze as the screen lit up and the year appeared.

"2005," she whispered. She was in too much shock to consider that, maybe, just maybe, her brother had changed the date. Besides, he didn't know her passcode, so he wouldn't have been able to. Somehow, some insane way, her phone still worked. Her thoughts strayed to the night before.

 _The girl folded her hands against her stomach and closed her eyes. While she was an atheist, that didn't stop her from mock praying to the angels of Supernatural._

" _Castiel," she murmured under her breath. "Gabriel, Hell, even Lucifer, if any of you are real, than just, please, just let me part of the Supernatural universe. But," she chuckled, "at least send my things along with me."_

"Shit," she whispered under her breath. Had her prayer really worked? She hadn't _meant_ it! She thought about each season of Supernatural- she had all of the most important information engraved into her brain.

"2005, 2005… Season one! That's it! And-" she checked her phone again. She then realized that it was almost midnight. "September 12… wasn't that the day before the first episode was aired? That's it!"

She figured that, if this was actually happening, she was in the first episode. She slipped her phone into her back pocket- she had fallen asleep in her jeans- and zipped up the duffel bag, slinging over her shoulder. She began trekking through the woods, but broke into a run at the first sound she heard. She was _not_ about to become part of the first five minutes in a Supernatural episode! Her mind took back that statement as soon as she thought it, and she would have laughed if she hadn't been so scared.

Soon, the trees began to thin out and the forest gave way to an apartment complex. Her eyes widened at the black Impala sitting in an open parking garage beside the complex, and the faint figure she could make out walking into the building. She followed him as quickly as she could while staying far enough behind that he wouldn't notice her. She followed him up several flights of stairs to an apartment on the fifth floor. She watched as he picked the lock and let himself in. Soon came the sounds of fighting- Sam thinking Dean was an intruder, she remembered, and then she heard Sam's girlfriend, Jessica, say something.

 _That's my cue,_ she thought. She had devised a plan as she followed the older Winchester through the building. She dropped her bag behind a potted plant decorating the hallway. Raising her thin hand, she knocked twice on the door. She waited as the words on the other side of the door came to a stop. The door cracked open, and Jessica's head popped out.

"Hi!" Lucille said brightly, waving. "I'm…" she faltered, having forgotten to come up with a name. "Mary, Sammy's little sister." She was glad she had taken improv classes when she was twelve, or else this plan would have failed miserably.

"Oh, hi Mary! I never realized Sam had a little sister!" said Jess, somewhat condescendingly. She opened the door further and Lucille stepped in. The two boys inside looked at her confusedly, and she glared at them with a warning clear in her eyes. _Act now, fangirl later,_ she told herself.

 _Just go with it,_ she mouthed to them, making an urgent face. Dean narrowed his eyes, having heard the conversation.

"Hey, kiddo! I thought I told you to stay in the car," Dean said, quickly picking up on the situation. Somehow, this girl at least knew their names, and was pretending to be their little sister. He went along with it, if only to avoid raising suspicion for Jess. He elbowed Sam. Lucille almost laughed seeing Sam's haircut.

"Hi… Mary, I didn't know you were coming!" She smiled coily at his hesitation to use the name.

"Hi Sammy! In case Dean didn't already tell you, _Dad's_ on a hunting trip, and he hasn't been home in a couple days." Dean gaped at her, while Sam turned to his older brother to confirm the information. Dean nodded in return. Sam's eyes widened, and he turned to his girlfriend.

"Jess, if you'll excuse us for a moment," He smiled apologetically. Lucille followed the two brothers outside the apartment, shutting the door behind her. As soon as the door was closed Dean grabbed her wrist and dragged her down the stairs to the parking garage where Baby was parked. Sam had to jog to catch up. He slammed her against the wall, holding her by her wrists above her head.

"Who are you and how the _Hell_ do you know who we are?" Dean growled out tightening his grip on her arms. Sam pulled his arms down and Lucille fell to the ground.

"Dude, chill, she's, like, fourteen!"

"So? Sam, she knows who we are! And Dad!"

" _So,_ she's a _kid_. You can't just do that!"

Lucille looked between the two, gaping. Suddenly, the severity of the situation hit her. _She_ was _here_ , with _Sam and Dean_ , in the _Supernatural universe._ She _left_ her _family_ behind, in another _reality._ She sank to her knees, breathing heavily. The argument between the brothers ceased, and Sam crouched down next to her.

"Hey, kid. Are you okay?" She chuckled weakly and nodded.

"Yeah, I just… A lot of shit's just happened in my life." She sighed, standing back up. She brushed a lock of wavy blonde hair behind her ear, unconsciously fidgeting with the Samulet her friend had given to her for her birthday one year. She put her hand down as soon as she realized what she was doing, hoping they hadn't noticed.

"Like _what_?" scoffed Dean, folding his arms over his chest. Lucille bit her lip.

"Well, for starters, I was just-" she hesitated, realizing she couldn't tell them the truth.

"Just what?" Sam asked curiously. She said the first lie she could think of.

"I was just cast out of Heaven!" she spat out. Her eyes widened and she covered her mouth. That was _not_ what she had wanted to say. She could practically hear the real angels laughing at her up in Heaven. Dean scoffed once more, clearly not believing a word she was saying.

"And let me guess, you're an _angel_ too." She nodded meekly.

"Well, technically, yes. Fallen, but an angel no less," she regained her confident posture, putting every ounce of acting in her body into those words.

"Sam, are you _hearing_ this?"

"Well, Dean, is it really that hard to believe? She knew who we were, and there aren't many people that do. And if it's the whole 'They're not real' thing, you can save it. I mean, that's what we do for a living, hunt the supernatural!"

"Exactly. _Hunt. Meaning,_ she should be _dead_ right now!" Lucille looked at him incredulously.

"Seriously? The first thing you do in reaction to meeting an angel is saying to _kill me_? Honestly, you humans are barbaric!" Okay, maybe she _could_ get into this role. Seemed easy enough- hate humans, be bad at everyday stuff, and know everything about Supernatural. She was basically an angel herself when it came to mannerisms and behavior- she just didn't have all the cool powers they had.

"Sorry, that's just Dean," apologized Sam. Lucille noticed that he now spoke with much more reverence than before.

"Oh no, I'm fine, I just thought, you know, he might treat the angel who can help him find the demon that killed his dear mumsy, but… No worries!" Lucille filled her words with sarcasm, unable to resist. She grinned smugly up at the Squirrel.

"You know, Sam, aren't angels supposed to wear diapers and have little wings and bows? I'm not liking this version very much," complained Dean.

"First of all, I'm right here. I can hear every word that comes out of your mouth. _Second of all,_ those are cherubim, a specific class of angel. _I_ was an intelligence angel, but I rebelled. So, now I'm down… _here_." She said this with disdain, hoping to resemble the speech of a real angel.

"Say we believe you, now what? We just go chase down a _demon_ and _kill it_?"

"Um… yes?" said Lucille meekly.

"But first, there's something we have to do. Sam, your girlfriend, Jessica? She will be facing the same fate as your mother if we leave now. But, luckily for you, we can prevent it. Your friend, Brady was his name? He's a demon. Has been ever since… Fall break, I believe." She waited for Sam's shocked expression to die down before continuing.

"He has been sent by a yellow-eyed demon named Azazel to kill Jessica. If we stop him now then he won't be able to complete his task… I think. So… invite him over tomorrow, I guess, and I can have a demon's trap ready for him."

"You _think?_ Thinking isn't gonna cut it. We need solid proof- _now_ ," said Dean, his arms still crossed. Lucille groaned.

"Ugh, _fine!_ I left my bag of shit upstairs, let's go grab it. When I was cast out of Heaven they threw my stuff down with me, and perhaps they let me keep my angel blade," she said, hoping that her pretend angel blade was in there. She thought she had seen it. It had been a present from her aunt when she had gone to a Supernatural convention without Lucille.

As they headed back up the stairs, the brothers continued to bombard Lucille with questions about the angels, and Azazel. Finally, Sam had enough common sense to ask her what her name was.

"Lucille," she responded, "but my friends call me Luci." She laughed as they tensed up at the first syllable of her name, probably thinking that they had been talking to Lucifer himself, before relaxing. Her nickname, however, was influenced by the archangel. She liked her full name, but being called "Luci" was just fun because people were unknowingly calling her Lucifer's nickname.

As they arrived at the apartment, Jess stuck her head out from behind the door. "Hey! Come on in, I made cookies!"

"Well, _Lucille,_ " Dean whispered quietly so as to make sure Jess couldn't hear, making it very clear that he was _not_ her friend, and would _not_ be calling her Luci, "Go get your bag and follow us, we're going to Sam's apartment."

She grabbed the duffel bag from where she had hidden it and followed the two boys into the apartment. Jessica was fully dressed at this point, sitting on a couch. Sam sat next to her, while Dean leaned stiffly against the wall. Lucille copied his position, albeit more relaxed. She dropped her bag on the floor next to her. Jess looked at the bag with surprise.

"Oh! Mary, are you going to be staying here overnight?" She glanced at Sam, who looked at Lucille.

"No, I just had something I wanted to show Sammy," she could see Dean glare at her out of the corner of her eye- _nobody_ calls Sam "Sammy" except for Dean. She grinned smugly. Jess stood up.

"Well, I'll be right back," she said, walking to where Lucille assumed the bathroom was. As soon as the door was shut the boys' attention immediately turned to the teen.

"So? Where's this _angel blade_?" Dean asked. He spoke in harsh whispers.

She sank to her knees and dug through the bag. There! At the very bottom she caught a glimpse of silver. She uncovered the blade and held it up in shock. Her mock blade had been blunt, not sharp enough to cut something, but this one looked very real- and very sharp. It glinted in the light, and she could feel some kind of power humming through it. She quickly masked her surprise with a smug expression. Sam stood and walked forward with his hand out, as if to take it. Lucille pulled the blade back as he reached out, glaring at him.

The door to the bathroom began to open, and Lucille quickly stuffed the blade back into her duffel. She zipped the bag up and stood. Dean began walking towards the door.

"See you later, Sammy. We'll be back tomorrow to help you with that thing we were talking about!" exclaimed Lucille, following Dean out.

"So…" Lucille trailed off as the made it to the parking garage.

"Get in," Dean said gruffly, gesturing to the back seat of the Impala.

"Ugh, _fine._ " Truthfully, it had been a dream of hers to ride in the Impala- just not really under these circumstances. She opened the door and stepped in, admiring the leather seats. She revelled in the purr of the engine as it started, and the two drove to a nearby motel. Rock music blared from the car stereo, and Lucille sang along quietly from the backseat. Dean quickly checked them into room 13, and Lucille followed him inside the dirty room, tossing her duffel bag on the bed closest to the door.

Dean ignored her entire presence, as if she wasn't there. The first thing he did after throwing his own bag onto his bed was head into the bathroom with a stack of clothes. Soon Lucille could hear the sound of the shower being turned on, and she quickly pulled out her phone. She soon found that whatever angel had put her here, if this wasn't all just a dream, had also modified her phone to work in 2005. All of the data from her reality in 2018 was still there- good. That meant that she could look up any information she needed to at any given time- and a Hell of a lot faster than anything Sam and Dean could find. Although, she already knew how to kill most of the things on the show.

Lucille sat on the edge of her bed, silent, as Dean came out of the shower. Her phone was safely tucked away in her duffel bag. He was fully dressed in comfortable clothing as he made his way across the room. He pointed at the teenager.

"I swear, if you do one thing, _one_ thing, that gives me any reason to believe that you're not who you say you are, you're out of here. Got that?" Lucille raised her eyebrows in amusement, a slight smirk gracing her face.

"Sure," she said, somewhat sarcastically. She rolled her eyes and stood, stretching. Finding a cup in the cupboard, she filled it with water and downed it in one large gulp. She set the cup on the counter before making her way back to her bed, slipping under the covers. At this point she didn't mind the fact that she was still wearing jeans. Dean looked at her with narrowed eyes.

Lucille threw her hand up in defense, a breathy laugh escaping her.

"What? I'm basically a human now, I need sleep!" she said in response to his inquisitive expression, morphing her face into that of an innocent child. "But don't think that makes me as bad as your kind, okay? Because I'm not. Fallen or not, angels will always be better than humans." She added the last part in for the Hell of it, taking great amusement in her ability to make one of her favorite characters become so offended so easily.

"You go to sleep, you hear me? And shut your pie-hole," Dean said, his feathers obviously ruffled. Lucille huffed and turned over, so her back was to him. She stayed still until she could hear his breathing patterns slow and become steady before standing up quietly, something she had mastered by the third grade so she could prank her friends during sleepovers.

The first thing she did was, naturally, cross to the other bed and stare at Dean's face. A wide smile split across her face- the look of a fangirl. He honestly looked exactly like Jensen Ackles. She quickly took as selfie with him. She realized that studying his face while he was sleeping probably would have seemed creepy to the casual onlooker, but at that point she really didn't care. Besides, it wasn't like there was anyone else there, right? Unless…

Just as a precautionary measure, Lucille raised her middle finger to the room around her. She knew that angels could choose to stay invisible, and if there weren't any there, than there would be nobody to witness her foolish acts. She laughed quietly at the thought of an angel watching her silently from the shadows, trying to keep their laughter in.

Her second order of business was to use the motel provided pen and paper to draw a devil's trap, referenced from her phone. She knew she wouldn't be able to just randomly pull out her phone in the middle of 2005, so she decided to make good use of her alone time. She knew most of it by memory, but still had a hard time remembering the top left and bottom symbols. After she finished copying the symbol down she folded the small slip of paper in half and tucked it securely into the side pocket of the duffel.

Her third action was researching Supernatural as much as possible. She dug through her bag and found and untangled her earbuds, rewatching the first episode. It was strange to be able to look to the bed directly beside her and find the same face on her screen, just lying there. She already knew what kind of ghost it was and her name, but she forgot how to kill it. She quickly scribbled down notes on the episode. She folded that paper as well, slipping it beside the devil's trap. She realized that she had an advantage over everyone else, having already had knowledge of monster locations, how to kill them, subdue them, and more.

The last thing she did before going to sleep was researching warding spells and putting them to use. She quickly found the Wiki article on an angel proofing sigil, and drew it with pencil on the back of the door. She drew as many symbols as she could find around the room(that didn't require blood, of course), just incase. She didn't think that many angels, if any aside from the one who brought her here, knew she was here, or how important the Winchesters' were, but it didn't hurt to be safe.

Lucille went to sleep with her mind a jumbled mess- thoughts of how to prevent certain things from happening, and questions on as to how she would be getting back to her family. A lone tear slipped down her cheek as she fell asleep.


	3. Jess

**Chapter 3: Jess**

 **Oh my CHUCK, it's late! I probably should go to sleep, but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯**

 **I might have some ships later on in the story, but not for now. And when I do, there will be absolutely NO incest or pedophelia. However, LGBT+ ships will probably be used frequently.**

 **Reviews:**

 **Bitchy-statue: Hehehe… just wait and find out…**

 **RoseCentury: Thank you so much!**

 **Wolfimus prime: About the Cas thing: In the show, he comes in in the first episode of season four, Lazarus Rising. I was actually planning to have him come in before then. Also, he probably won't be the one to spill the secret, seeing as /SPOILER ALERT(sort of?)\\\ Gabriel is in season two, and he's an angel. But, I honestly don't know at this point. We'll have to just go where the story takes us, I suppose.**

"-ey! Hey! Feathers! Kid!"

Lucille's hand flew out as she was shaken awake- an immediate reaction, probably from all the times her brother had pranked her in her sleep. Her hand was caught with ease by Dean, whose expression was a mixture of confusion and concern. Lucille's forehead was damp with sweat. Her breath came in heavy pants, and her cheeks were wet with tears. Blonde hair splayed out behind her, knotted.

"What the Hell was that?!" asked Dean angrily. Lucille breathed heavily, calming down.

"A- a dream. A nightmare," she said, wiping her face with her hands.

"Yeah? Well get it the Hell under control, Feathers. We're heading to Sam's in half an hour," Dean said, walking away. Lucille rolled her eyes.

"Don't call me Feathers," she grumbled. She sat up and stretched, squinting against the sunlight streaming through the dirty windows.

"Hey Feathers," Dean said, stressing the nickname. "What's all this?" He pointed to the warding traced on the walls and door.

"Angel and demon symbols, Squirrel," she replied with a nickname of her own- well, she didn't really make it up, but at least it wasn't his real name. "Obviously."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just have them off the walls before we leave. And Squirrel? Why Squirrel?"

Lucille rolled her eyes. "Never mind," she huffed, and proceeded to get ready for the day. She entered the bathroom and changed quickly- the shirt she had been wearing was damp with sweat, and either way, she needed to put a new shirt on. Soon she was ready to go- her hair was braided around her head in a crown braid, and her lips shined with a pink gloss. Dean knocked on the bathroom door with his knuckles.

"Hurry up, princess, we ain't got all day."

Lucille opened the door and strode out, "accidentally" hitting Dean in the face with the door. She snickered at his shocked expression. She noticed that all his stuff was gone from the room and assumed that it was already in the Impala. She grabbed her black duffel bag from beside her bed and ran outside, setting it in the back seat of the Impala before running back inside. She grabbed a hand towel from the bathroom and dampened it, quickly wiping the sigils from the walls.

By the time she had finished cleaning the walls, Dean had already started the Impala. Lucille slid in the backseat, not bothering to put a seatbelt on. Dean flipped through different radio stations as they began the short drive to Sam's apartment.

Sam was outside waiting for them as they arrived. Dean parked and Lucille followed the two brothers inside the building.

"Jess just left for brunch with a couple of her friends, so you probably have about three hours before she gets back to do whatever it is you're going to do," said Sam, looking over his shoulder at Lucille as he unlocked his apartment.

Lucille pursed her lips. "Quick question: do you happen to have any masking tape?"

"Yeah, why?" Sam responded, an eyebrow raised.

"Would you rather me use spray paint on the floor?" she said dryly, crossing her arms and jutting her hip out to the side mockingly.

Sam threw his hands up in defence, an offended expression gracing his face.

"Just asking," he mumbled to the "angel".

He left the room, coming back moments later with two rolls of masking tape hooked around his index finger. Lucille pulled the piece of paper with the devil's trap on it from her pocket. She handed it to the brothers. As they looked over it, Lucille dashed to the other room and pulled a stool from the kitchen into the front hallway.

"You two are tall, therefore you can reach the ceiling easily, whereas I," she gestured to the stool, "cannot." She took one of the rolls from Sam and stood on the stool to begin taping. The two Winchesters followed her example, referencing the paper.

Soon, there was a complete devil's trap made of masking tape on the ceiling of the room. Lucille instructed Sam to invite "Brady" to the apartment- he lived on the floor above them, so him getting there after Jess got back wouldn't be a problem.

A knock echoed from the door not long after Sam texted Brady. Sam opened the door with a forced smile, greeting the demon. He introduced "Brady" to Dean and "Mary", at the opposite end of the short hall, from the doorway. However, as they made their way down the hallway, if you could even call it that, Brady was held back by an invisible barrier. He looked up and frowned slightly, then looked back at Sam, his eyes flashing black. He laughed.

"Nice one, Sammy! What gave it away?" he raised an eyebrow, unphased. Dean stepped forward.

"Let's just say a little birdy told us." Dean smirked, glancing at Lucille. She glared at him. Her eyes widened in realization, and she swore under her breath.

"Is there any chance either of you know an exorcism?" she asked hopefully. Dean and Sam both shook their heads and glared at her.

"I remember some of it, but not all… Wait!" she exclaimed, suddenly remembering something.

"I'll be right back. Don't do anything," she warned both the brothers and the demon. She edged along the wall to avoid the devil's trap, which would be very bad for Brady to get his hands on her, and dashed down the stairs to the Impala. She threw open the back door and dug through her bag quickly, looking for something.

She threw the door to the apartment open, taking in the scene. Brady was taunting Sam, while Dean held his younger brother back. She shouted to get their attention.

"Hey, bitches! I'm back!"

She brandished the object in the air. Brady's face contorted.

"Now how the Hell does a girl like you have one of those?" the demon asked in response to Lucille waving the Angel Blade in the air. She smiled patronisingly.

"Oh, sweetie. You couldn't tell? I suppose my grace is gone… I am, or was, an angel, dumbass. For some stupid reason they let me keep the blade," she said confidently. And, for the love of everything, she hoped that the blade worked. If not, well, she just made a complete fool of herself.

She edged back around the trap, making her way to stand alongside the boys. She turned the dagger in her hand, so the blade rested in her palm. She handed it hilt-first to Sam.

"Sam? Would you like to do the honors?"

"Gladly," he growled. His adjusted his grip on the blade, stepping forward. Brady's eyes widened and he backed away, leaning as far back as he could from Sam. However, with Sam's long arms and the small diameter of the trap, Sam was able to easily reach across and pull the demon forward.

"Don't. Touch. My. Girlfriend!" Sam roared in Brady's face. Lucille glanced away as Sam sunk the blade into the demon's chest. She looked back, and watched as his bones were illuminated from the inside. Sam pulled the blade out of his chest with ease, wiping off the blood on his shirt. He handed the Angel Blade back to Lucille. She slipped it silently up her sleeve. She had a hard time pretending to be unphased by what had just occurred.

"So where does he go now? I mean, where do demons go after they die?" Sam questioned, brushing his hands together as if they had dirt on them. Lucille gulped, trying to rid herself of her dry mouth.

"Purgatory, I'd assume," she said in response. She cringed as her voice cracked. She forced herself to look away from the dead body.

"The Hell is Purgatory?" Dean asked. Lucille rubbed her temples and sighed.

"Purgatory is adjacent to Hell. It's basically the monster afterlife. There are, I don't know, 30, 40 million monsters in there? Only a select few know how to get in- myself not included." Okay, maybe she lied about that part, but so what? She couldn't have them asking how to get into Purgatory, could she?

That was the end of the conversation. Sam pulled the tape off the ceiling and the younger of the two brothers looked to Lucille for further instruction.

"I don't know, um… I guess just toss the body in your trunk, then we can find a place to burn it." Dean looked at her incredulously.

"No, nuh-uh, not in my Baby! Get your own car!" Lucille sighed, exasperated.

"First of all, I'm in the body of a fourteen year old. I can't exactly drive a car. Secondly, would you rather the body be left here for someone, specifically Jessica, to find?" Lucille said, smiling smugly at the Squirrel. The older Winchester sighed, motioning to Sam to help him with the body. Lucille exited first, with the two brothers not far behind, carrying the limp body. They stole around corners, managing to get the body in the trunk without anyone noticing.

They drove to a secluded part of the forest that Lucille had landed in the night before and dug a grave. Well, really it was just the Winchesters, with Lucille standing to the side. Her excuse was, "I'm an angel. I don't dig graves."

They quickly salt-and-burned the body, letting Lucille light it. Sam looked away, not able to look at the body of someone who had once been his friend. Dean pressed his hand on the middle of his brother's back, leading him away from the scene. This left Lucille to fill in the grave.

By the time she finished and had made it back to the Impala, which was parked in the forest nearby, her arms ached. It hadn't taken long, seeing as it was just pushing dirt back into the hole, but it had taken a lot of effort. As she got back she realized Dean was showing Sam the case from season one. She snuck up behind them, avoiding dry leaves and snappable twigs as best she could.

She peered over Dean's shoulder, pretending to observe the notes. Sam noticed and held back a snicker.

"Well, I, for one, think it's a woman in white," she said. Dean jumped, his hand flying up and catching her in the face. She fell back, clutching her nose. It wasn't broken, she recognized, but it was dripping blood. She swore under her breath. Sam crouched beside her and tended to her face, laughing. She glared at both Winchesters.

"Dammit kid, don't do that," said Dean, shaking his hand. Lucille stood up, brushing the dirt off of her clothes. She rolled her eyes and pointed at the notes.

"Like I said before you very so ungratefully punched me, it's probably a woman in white. You know, pretty, suicidal, kid-drowning ghosts?"

"Yeah, I got it," Dean sighed. "So, Sammy, you coming?"

"Dean, I told you, I have an interview on Monday. It's important."

"We'll be back before then!" interjected Lucille reassuringly. She desperately wanted to go on a hunt with Sam and Dean, and this might be her only chance now that Jess was safe. He turned to her incredulously.

"And who said you were going?" She tilted her head in mock confusion.

"Uh, I did?" He groaned, obviously not going to be able to convince her not to tag along.

Dean drove Baby back to the apartment complex, and Sam ran inside to pack. Lucille sat slouched in the backseat of the Impala, turning the Angel Blade in her hands. She gasped softly as the tip of it pierced the tip of her finger. Her finger was brought to her mouth and she suckled on it gently, willing the cut to go away. The metallic taste in her mouth faded, and she brought her finger close to her eye for inspection. There was visible no trace of a wound. Well, she always had been a quick healer.

Sam ran outside with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He opened the backdoor of the Impala and tossed it beside Lucille. He waved to Jessica, who was leaning on the exterior wall of the building, smiling softly. The car started once more, pulling out of the parking space and beginning its two-hour long drive to Jericho, California.

The trio dealt with Constance Welch in a matter of hours. Lucille stayed behind at the motel they had found their father's things to be in while Sam and Dean did the actual hunting. She had pretended to use "what remained of her angelic powers" to give them all the information they would need. They were on their way back to Stanford before sundown. They arrived just after sundown and dropped Sam off. Dean and Lucille decided to wait outside for about half an hour, just to make sure all was well.

And all was well- up until the point that the fifth floor was enveloped in flames, and Dean had to run inside to drag Sammy out, kicking and screaming.

* * *

 **I know, I know. I'm a terrible person. Can you blame me? I mean, there had to be some sort of trigger for Sam to get back into hunting. Also, sorry for not going into detail with the whole hunt thing, I'm too lazy for that and you should already know basically what happened- the same exact thing, just with less research and less effort.**


	4. Wendigo

**Chapter 4: Wendigo**

 **I KNOW, it's been awhile since I updated. To be fair, Voltron: Legendary Defender season 6 just came out. I had to binge watch, okay!? PLUS, I just started reading Twist and Shout for the first time, and UGH HELP MY HEART**

 **Okay, I take back what I said last chapter. There may be some flirty interaction between some characters, just no full on relationships. So, in a sense, there may be ships, as the reader(and the author:) may ship two characters together, and there may be short hookups, but no long-term, main/recurring character relationships, like Wincest, Destiel, Sabriel, Samifer, etc.**

 **It's just not FAIR how I can't add any ship I want into the story. Because while I have a lot of ships, like Destiel, Sabriel, Samifer, etc, they just wouldn't fit into the story!**

 **You know, it's weird how much worse Supernatural seems when you imagine all of this stuff happening to a fourteen year old. But, then again, Dean has been doing this stuff since then, so… Also, I changed the title of the fic from "Living a Supernatural Life" to "Finding a Supernatural Life". Just so you know, and I don't think I have mentioned this yet, this will be a multi-fic thing, one for each season. I'm not anything if not dedicated! *Has deleted two fics because she got bored of them**Grins sheepishly**Dies inside* But I** _ **promise**_ **, I will do my best to stay dedicated to this one! If at any point I decide I don't want to continue it, then I will choose someone that I deem a good writer and dedicated fan of Supernatural to take over(:**

"No," Lucille whispered, her face pressed cheek-to-glass against the window, staring at the building going up in flames. " _No! This wasn't supposed to happen!_ " Her voice rose as she spoke, screaming at the building. Dean was speaking to the firefighters who had shortly arrived at the scene, while Sam stood, broken, by the trunk of the Impala. He quickly covered up his pain with a strong facade, opening the trunk and inspecting the hunting tools contained within. He cocked a gun as Dean approached him. Sam sighed.

"We got work to do," he said, turning on his heel and sliding into the passenger's seat, blatantly ignoring Lucille. Dean slid into the driver's seat beside him. Lucille curled her knees up to her chest, tears staining her cheeks. She wasn't quite sure why she was showing more emotion than Sam- perhaps it was because the younger Winchester had many occasions on which to practice, or maybe it was because Lucille had known what was going to happen and was powerless to stop it, no matter how hard she had tried. She may not have seemed very angelic, but at that moment she didn't really care.

The three slept in another crappy motel room for almost another week, so that Sam could attend the funeral. Sam and Dean each took a bed, while Lucille was given a sleeping bag, a pillow, and a couple of blankets to sleep on the floor. She didn't care for the arrangements very much, but she didn't protest, supposing that she deserved it. She hadn't stopped Jess from being killed, even though she knew it was going to happen.

Soon, the uncommunicative trio was on its way to Blackwater Ridge, in Lost Creek, Colorado. Dean had found the coordinates in the notes that John Winchester, their father, had pinned up in his motel room in Jericho. Lucille had known immediately why, of course- there was a wendigo there that had captured a group of teenagers. She couldn't exactly tell them that, or else they may begin to question who she really was. So she decided to play along- for now. But there was no way in _Hell_ she was getting near the wendigo.

Lucille closed her eyes and rested her head against her shoulder in the backseat of the Impala, fully intending to go to sleep. However, she couldn't help but listen to the conversation between the two boys in the front seat. Sam had been asleep when she closed her eyes, but she could hear him jerk awake. She assumed that it had been the dream near the beginning of episode two- Sam had been at Jess' grave, and when he tried to put flowers down a hand shot up from the dirt and gripped his wrist. Her eyes threatened to open in shock as she realized she was going to hear, in person, one of the Winchester brotherly talks.

"You okay?" Dean said. Lucille could hear the concern laced in his voice, no matter how much he tried to hide it.  
"Yeah, I'm fine," Sam said in response. Lucille rolled her eyes under her eyelids at how obvious of a lie that was.  
"Another nightmare?"

 _No shit, Sherlock,_ Lucille thought to herself. Sam cleared his throat.  
"You wanna drive for a while?" Lucille's smiled softly, knowing how important Baby was to him. Sam laughed.  
"Dean, your whole life you never once asked me that."

Dean immediately grew defensive. "Just thought you might want to. Never mind."  
"Look, man, you're worried about me. I get it, and thank you, but I'm perfectly okay."  
Dean made a small noise of unbelieving acknowledgement. Lucille could hear the crinkle of thin paper as Sam grabbed a map and turned it the right side up.

"All right, where are we?"  
"We are just outside of Grand Junction," Dean informed his brother.  
Sam folded down the map, which Lucille knew had a large red X labeled 35-111.

Sam leaned forward in his seat, if the shift she could feel against her knees was anything to go by. "You know what?"

"Maybe we shouldn't have left Stanford so soon."  
Dean paused, his voice exasperated, tired, even, when he finally replied.

"Sam, we dug around there for a week. We came up with nothing. If you wanna find the thing that killed Jessica-" Sam quickly interrupted him.  
"We gotta find Dad first. Yeah, yeah, I know,"  
"Dad disappearing and this thing showing up again after twenty years, plus a random girl claiming she's an angel? It can't all be a coincidence." Lucille sighed inaudibly, going unnoticed by both Winchesters. She had assured them that she had nothing to do with Jess' death, but they hadn't wanted to believe her just yet. She had also apologized countless times for not being able to stop her death, but Sam had yet to forgive her.  
"Dad will have answers. He'll know what to do," Dean said, trying to convince himself more than Sammy at this point.  
"It's just… I dunno. It's weird, man. These coordinates he left us? This Blackwater Ridge?" Sam questioned the integrity of their mission, unsure of the reasoning behind it.  
"What about it?" Dean asked- oblivious, following John's orders blindly, as always.  
"I mean, there's nothing there. It's just... woods." He set the map down. Lucille yawned and stretched, pretending to wake up. "Why is he sending us to the middle of nowhere?"

"Probably for a case," she said sarcastically, leaning forward and resting her chin on the back of the front seat. Her words were once again ignored by Sam, and Dean glared at her out of the corner of his eye. Instead, she turned her face to the window, watching the scenery. Soon, they passed a sign.  
 _Welcome to LOST CREEK COLORADO National Forest_

A few minutes later, the trio parked outside of the ranger's station. They walked inside and Sam began inspecting at the three-dimensional map of the national forest in the middle of the room, paying particular attention to the ridge labelled _Blackwater Ridge_. Dean wandered around the perimeter of the room, dragging his hand against the walls and stuffed animals skins. Lucille pressed her palms flat against the edge of the map, leaning over it across from Sam.

"So Blackwater Ridge is pretty remote. It's cut off by these canyons here, rough terrain, dense forest, abandoned silver and gold mines all over the place," Sam said, pointing at different locations across the map. Lucille ran her thin fingers across the bumps and ridges, leaning closer to read each small label.

"Dude, check out the size of this friggin' bear!" Sam and Lucille both glanced up, looking at the picture that Dean showed them. It was a framed photo of a man standing behind a much larger bear. Sam came to stand beside Dean, while Lucille hung back.

"And a dozen or more grizzlies in the area. It's no nature hike, that's for sure," said Sam, completing his thought from earlier. Lucille giggled to herself as a forest ranger walked up behind them, startling the brothers. She raised an eyebrow at Dean's hand, which had immediately flown to the back of his pants where his gun was tucked.

"You boys aren't planning on going out near Blackwater Ridge by any chance?" the ranger said, a hint of a drawl to his voice.

"Oh, no, sir, we're environmental study majors from UC Boulder, just working on a paper," Sam said, a small, sheepish smile gracing his face. The innocence of season one Sam made Lucille's heart melt.

"And her?" the ranger said, gesturing to Lucille. Sam glanced at her with disdain, but not so much that the ranger could tell.

"My little sister. She has an interest in the environment, so I thought we might bring her along," Sam replied, acting as innocent as possible. Lucille smiled sweetly at the ranger.

"I've always wanted to learn more about animals and the Earth! Would it be okay if we explored for a bit? I promise we won't do anything bad," she said. The ranger turned back to the boys. While he was distracted, Lucille's hand shot out and she quietly slipped a stack of papers from the desk in the back of the room into her jacket.

"Well, I suppose so," the ranger said, looking between the three. "Just be careful, and don't hurt any animals."

"Actually-" Sam started, looking to get more information. Lucille quickly interrupted him, crossing the room and tugging on his and Dean's arms.

"Come on, let's go!"

"They followed her out of the building, Sam smiling gratefully over his shoulder at the ranger.

"What the Hell, Feathers?" Dean asked, a hint of anger lacing his voice.

"Yeah, _we_ actually have a job to do!" Sam said, gesturing to him and his brother.

"Oh, so _now_ you decide to talk to me," she rolled her eyes. "Just get in the damn car, I'll explain on the way."

"On the way _where_?" Dean asked incredulously as he slid into the front seat.

"Here," she said, pulling the stack of papers from her hoodie as waving them in front of the car window.

She clambered into the backseat, waiting for Dean to start the car. She read the address to Haley Collins' house.

"Why, what's so important there?" Sam asked her, his voice tight. She sighed.

"Look, Sam, I get that you're mad at me, and you have every right to be! But right now, we have a job to do. So, can you just drop it for all of a few days? You can resume your passive aggressiveness _after_ whatever is happening here is dealt with," she said, desperate for him to stop being mad at her. He huffed and turned away.

" _Anyway_ ," she said, pretending that nothing had happened, "I stole these off his desk while you two were busy being giant, awkward babies." She began paraphrasing the papers that she held. "A girl named Haley Collins has brought her concerns about her brother to the rangers. He was on a camping trip with two of his friends. He hasn't been responding to her calls. Apparently, he's not supposed to be back until the twenty-fourth, but she's worried about him."

"You know, the coordinates point to Blackwater Ridge, so what are we waiting for? Let's just go find Dad. I mean, why even talk to this girl?"

Dean looked incredulously at his brother in the seat next to him. "I don't know, maybe we should know what we're walking into before we actually walk into it?"

There was a small pause, in which Lucille thought up the best angelic response to the both of them as possible.

"What?" Sam asked in response to Dean's surprised face. Dean shrugged the question off.

"Since when are you all shoot first ask questions later, anyway?" Dean asked.

"Since now."

Sam turned away.

"Oh, really?" Dean said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Just so the both of you know, there's a much bigger picture than your little family reunion here," Lucille said, resting her elbows on her legs, her head settled between her hands.

"Yeah? Like what?" Sam said, facing away from her.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe the possibility of Lucifer rising because of the damn demon that did all of this?" she said sarcastically, before realising what she had said. Her vibrant green eyes widened and she slapped her hand over her mouth. It was the first thing that had come to mind, and anyone who knew her also knew that she had little impulse control when it comes to speech. At least it wasn't another miserable lie- although, in this case it may have been better to tell a white lie than to say anything about Azazel's plan.

The car screeched to a stop, and Sam and Dean both turned around to stare at her incredulously.

" _What_?" Dean asked, eyebrows raised.

"Nothing!" Lucille squeaked, trying to sink into leather seat behind her.

"No, not _nothing_! Lucifer? C'mon, really?!" The last sentence was more directed to the universe than Lucille. Dean glared at her, and Sam turned around and leaned back in his seat in shock.

"You… you weren't supposed to know that. At least, not until… you know what? Never mind. Can we just go to that Haley girl's house? Please?"

" _No_ , we can't! Explain, now, or I swear…" He left the threat hanging in the air, ominously unfinished.

" _Now_ , Squirrel. Let's _go_. I swear, I'll tell you everything, but not just yet," Lucille said, glaring at him.

Dean huffed and turned back around, and, realizing that arguing was pointless, began driving once more. Soon, they arrived at the Collins' house. They quickly decided on a cover story- Sam and Dean were to be rangers from the Park Service, sent by Ranger Wilkinson- that was the name of the ranger from earlier- to check on Haley and ask about her brother. The only problem with that, though, was that Lucille couldn't go in with them.

She watched them from the tinted back window of the Impala. They stood at the front door and waited patiently for a pretty lady with dark brown hair framing her face to open it- Haley. They spoke for a moment, and Dean held up his fake badge, then they were let in.

Barely twenty minutes had passed before Sam and Dean made their way back out, the elder tossing a smile over his shoulder. They slid into the car and the engine roared to life.

"So? What'd she say?" Lucille questioned the boys, already knowing what the answer would be. She had rewatched the episode while Sam and Dean had been at a bar one night.

"Tell you later!" Dean shouted over the loud music playing in the car. "First, food!"

They pulled into the parking lot of a small dive bar. Lucille looked at it with disgust.

"Hells no! I look fourteen, which is seven years less than drinking age, in case you can't do math. I can't just… walk into a bar! Either way, why would I want to walk into that _dump_?"

Dean slammed shut the car door he had begun opening.

"Right," he said, pointing his finger up and flicking it forward. "You're fourteen." He pointedly chose to ignore the last statement, taking it personally as an insult to his choice in bars.

She rolled her eyes as he pulled out of the parking lot and began driving around, looking for the nearest restaurant. They soon pulled up to a local _Biggerson's._

Sam held a small folder of papers inside, along with his computer. They sat down and ordered quickly, then he began digging through the papers.

"So why's the girl worried about her brother?" Lucille asked, although she already knew the answer.

"Brother goes on hunting trip, sends home stupid photos and videos every day, suddenly, just. _Doesn't,_ " Dean summarized. Lucille made a small noise of acknowledgement.

"So get this," Sam said, and Lucille inhaled sharply, as quietly as possible. It was the first time she had heard him say it in real life. Neither boy noticed. "Blackwater Ridge doesn't get a lot of traffic. Local campers, mostly. But still, this past April, two hikers went missing out there. They were never found."

"Let me guess, happens every twenty-three years?"

Sam looked at her, surprised.

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

She smiled coily. "Just an angelic guess, I suppose."

"So that's… '82, '59, '36? Hm," Dean said, dragging a newspaper clipping closer to him. He looked up and smiled at the waitress as she set their food down.

" _Grizzly Bear Attacks_ …" he read from the newspaper. He gave a short laugh. "Yeah right," he sighed.

Sam opened his computer, and Lucille almost laughed at how clunky it was compared to modern-day computers. She circled around the booth to see the screen. A tab showing a video was already open.

"Okay, watch this. Here's a clincher. I downloaded that guy Tommy's video to the laptop. Check this out."

They went through the video three frames at a time. A shadow crossed the screen.

"Do it again," Dean said, staring at the computer. Sam repeated the three frames.

"That's three frames. That's a fraction of a second. Whatever that thing is, it can move," Sam said, playing the frames again. Dean hit Sam's shoulder.

"Told you something weird was going on!"

Lucille rolled her eyes. _Why am I, the fourteen year old fangirl, the only mature on here?_ She thought.

"I think I know what it is," she spoke up. She played with the ends of her blonde hair, ending right at her shoulders.

"Really? What is it, then, if you're so sure?" Dean's voice was condescending, as if he was so much better than someone who he thought to be an angel. She scowled.

"Don't talk to _me_ like that. I'm an _angel_ , in case you've forgotten. Now, if you're done being condescending, then I would like to point out that it is most likely a wendigo," she said, playing the "angel card".

"A wendigo? But how…" Sam trailed off, while Dean sat, offended.

"Think about it," she said. "We know it feeds on campers, so it most likely lives in the forest. It's extremely fast, as we can tell from the video footage. And, going back to my previous statement, it takes people, which is another trait of the wendigo."

"Well, there are a lot of things that live in the forest and eat people. How do we know it's a wendigo, and not a, I don't know, skinwalker, or Black Dog?" said Sam, peering into her face. She groaned.

"The speed, _like I said before_. Also, they hibernate for long periods of time- disappearances every 23 years? You know what? Can you just trust me on this?"

"Sorry if we don't really trust you. We've tried it before, and look where that got us." Sam stood, brushing the papers back into the file and closing the laptop. Lucille's face fell- it was another reminder of how badly she had failed Sam, and Jess. Dean slapped a couple of bills on the table before following Sam out the door. Lucille was left to stand there, staring after the two.

The Impala roared to life outside and sped away, not waiting for Lucille. She quickly regained her composure, walking outside. She set of in a random direction, choosing to ignore the fact that her idols had just abandoned her at a random restaurant. She wasn't really paying attention to where she was going, and didn't notice when the ground beneath her feet turned from hard pavement to soft, dry leaves.

She did notice, however, when a tall, thin black figure dove down from amongst the trees, wrapping it's long arms around her and carrying her off.

* * *

Lucille awoke, her eyes bleary. She looked around, realizing she wasn't in any sort of motel room _she_ had seen. It was dark, but not so dark that she couldn't see two other figures hanging in there with her, as well as many corpses- or what remained of them- littering the room. She was suspended by her wrists above her, blood, dirt, and bruises covering her skin. The tall, thin figure she had seen earlier- _Wendigo!_ Her mind shouted at her- stood at the entrance of the mine, blocking the majority of what little light was let in. It slowly stalked towards one of the figures. It was easily fifteen feet tall, with elongated limbs.

She and the other figure, Tommy, turned away, and they heard the sick crunch of bones. A small whimper escaped her, and the wendigo's head snapped in her direction. She held her breath. It slowly turned away, exiting the dim mine. Only when it left did she dare to breath.

* * *

Soon, the wendigo came back, dragging Haley and Dean. Lucille watched with wide eyes as it tied them up by their wrists. It left shortly after without feeding, and Lucille began gently calling out to Dean.

"Dean! Hey! Wake up, Squirrel!" she called softly to the man. He groaned and opened his eyes, jolting in surprise as he took in his surroundings.

He immediately began twisting in his constraints, trying to get out.

"Dammit, I can't reach my knife," he cursed. Lucille's eyes widened as she realized what he had said. She had completely forgotten about the angel blade! She had kept it tucked in her sleeve since Jess' death, just in case. She began nudging it out of her sweatshirt sleeve. Dean's eyebrows raised when he realized what she was doing.

"And you didn't think of doing this sooner?" he hissed to her. She shrugged as best she could with both hands above her. She finally got the hilt of the blade in her hand, cutting the makeshift ropes binding her wrists. She fell to the floor with a thud. Glancing around, she quickly ran to Dean and cut his ropes. He glared at her when she nicked the side of his wrist in the process. He dropped into a crouch to land softly. Lucille hurried to cut Haley down, still unconscious, and Dean caught her. He laid her down gently on the floor and caught Tommy as the young "angel" untied him.

Tommy breathed in sharply, his eyes flying open. He hurried to stand up, but his stance was weak at best. He rushed over to his sister, trying not to wobble too badly. He leaned over her and began whispering to her, and soon she awoke.

The floorboards above them creaked and broke, Sam and another man- Ben Collins, if Lucille remembered correctly- fell through. They hurried to help the other two Collins siblings to their feet securely. Lucille looked around and found a small pile of stolen bags in the corner. She began distributing them to everyone to carry out, leaving the useless stuff there. She found three flare guns, and gave one each to Sam, Dean, and herself. She also pressed the angel blade into Dean's hand.

"Take this, and distract it. I can hear it coming back. Then, get out of there as quickly as possible," she instructed. "The blade will kill anything, but if you can't get close enough to kill it use the flare gun."

Dean nodded and ran out to the mine shafts, shouting various insults as loud as he could. They waited until he was a safe distance away before moving. They began weaving through the tunnels as quietly as possible, looking for the exit.

The group of five made their way down a tunnel, pausing as they heard growling. Sam pointed the flare gun at it, before lowering the gun and turning to Lucille.

"Lucille, get them outta here," he said, urging them towards the exit.

"Sam, _no_ ," Haley said, distressed.

"Let's go," Lucille turned on her heel. Her hand flew out, catching each Collins on the shoulder, indicating for them to go.

"Who even _are_ you?" Haley asked her as they ran. A flare gun went off behind them. Lucille resisted responding with, "Someone better than you." Instead, she chose to avoid the question altogether.

"No one of import," she said as Sam caught up to them.

"Come on, hurry, hurry, _hurry!_ " he urged them as they ran to the end of the tunnel, the wendigo right behind.

They make it to the end, where Sam pushes all three Collins siblings behind him. Lucille stood at his side, watching with dread as the wendigo slowly approached them, taking its time. She visibly exhaled as she saw Dean run up behind it.

The wendigo must have heard him approach, because he turned as Dean was right behind him. However, he had not been expecting an angel blade to the stomach.

"Not bad, huh?" He grinned broadly at Sam and Lucille. Sam smiled back as Dean tossed the angel blade back to Lucille. She swore as she caught it by the hilt.

"Don't _do_ that!" He grinned sheepishly.

"I thought you said normal knives don't work on it," Haley said to Dean in a confused tone of voice.

"This," Lucille brandished the blade in the air, "is _not_ a normal blade." That was the only explanation she received.

* * *

Ambulances and police trucks circled the campsite. Two paramedics loaded Tom into an ambulance while the same amount of police officers interviewed Ben. Lucille and Sam stood to the side.

"And the bear came back again after you yelled at it?"

"That's when it circled the campsite. I mean, this grizzly must have weighed eight hundred, nine hundred pounds," Ben claimed. They had gone over the story right before the officers had shown up.

Sam and Lucille nodded.

"It was really big and scary," Lucille cut in, feigning innocence. "Maybe I _don't_ want to study animals!" She grinned inwardly as the officer smiled patronisingly and laughed. _Bonus cute points,_ she thought.

"All right, well, we'll go after it first thing." The officer walked away and Lucille observed Dean and Haley's conversation. Haley said something, then Dean smiled lasciviously. Lucille shook her head and rolled her eyes, turning away as a paramedic approached the duo.

She walked with Sam back to the Impala, stopping to nod at Haley and Ben. The siblings climbed into the ambulance with Tom, who was shirtless and bandaged. A different paramedic closed the doors.

The Winchester brothers sat on the hood of the Impala side by side, with Lucille leaning against it.

"Man, I hate camping," Dean said. Nodding, Lucille drummed her fingers on the hood of the Impala.

"Me too," Sam agreed.

The ambulance drove away, sirens blaring.

"Sammy, you know we're gonna find Dad, right?" Lucille chose not to say anything about the larger plan this time, more for the sake of the plot than anything else. She realized how stupid that must sound. She was acting exactly like Metatron- an angel who does everything just for a good story, and cares more about the plot than the wellbeing of the characters.

"Yeah, I know. But in the meantime? I'm driving."

Dean shrugged, tossing Sam the keys. He hit the hood of Baby lightly.

"Load up!"

Sam, Dean, and Lucille get in the car, slamming the doors almost in sync.

The car started and they began driving.

"Fly By Night" by Rush began to play through the speakers.


	5. Alive in the Water

**Chapter 5: Alive In the Water**

 **Finally got my computer back!**

 **If you need advice on writing, don't ask me! I honestly don't know how. But I'm good at giving advice that works for other people, but not me! APPARENTLY, you're supposed to plan out each chapter or something. Ha! I just write as I go. TBH, I don't even go back and read what I wrote, I just hope it sounds good and that I didn't make any grammar mistakes. BTW, I'm literally in my teens, so sorry if it the story sucks. After I'm done with the story I'll go back and reread it all and correct what needs to be fixed.**

 **Also, I realized I never gave Lucille a last name. Suggestions please? I'll put a poll up in my profile once I get enough suggestions.**

 **It makes me sad to see that the views have only gone up by one because that means that someone saw the first chapter and said "I don't like it."**

 **ARE YOU READY FOR THE GAY(more like pan but still)!?**

 _ **/SEASON 11 SPOILERS\\\**_

Dean Winchester sat across from Lucille at a round table inside a restaurant. Three empty plates sat in front of them, Dean's shoved to the side to make room for a black and white newspaper. A fine black pen sat in his hand, and he was crossing off and circling various obituaries. Lucille watched as he circled the obituary of _CARLTON, SOPHIE._ Dean put the pen to his lips, chewing on the end of it.

The waitress, a pretty blonde lady with a wide smile, approached their table. A nametag pinned to the front of her low-cut shirt read "Wendy".

"Can I get you anything else?" Dean looked up and smiled flirtatiously around the pen. Sam slipped into the seat beside Lucille and glanced at his brother with mild disdain, before looking up at the waitress.

"Just the check, please," Sam and Lucille said at the same time. They looked at each other and grinned.

"Okay," said Wendy, walking away. Her hips swayed, and Dean's eyes lingered before he dropped his head.

"You know, Sam, we are allowed to have fun once in a while." He pointed to Wendy's retreating form; she was wearing short shorts. "That's fun."

Lucille scoffed and shook her head- she could tell that Dean was a player from watching Supernatural, but she had never imagined him to be _this_ bad. "Dean Winchester, you complete _womanizer._ "

Sam snickered, before Dean passed the newspaper across the table.

"Here, take a look at this, I think I got one. Lake Manitoc, Wisconsin. Last week Sophie Carlton, eighteen, walks into the lake, doesn't walk out. Authorities dragged the water; nothing. Sophie Carlton is the third Lake Manitoc drowning this year. None of the other bodies were found either. They had a funeral two days ago."

Lucille read the obituary over Sam's shoulder, before deciding to mess with their heads a bit. Seeing as LGBT+ pride hadn't really been that widespread amongst people until recent years, she decided to surprise them with the news that she was pan.

"Aw," she pouted. "She was pretty! Such a shame for her to just disappear like that!" Sam and Dean both turned to her, surprise written on their faces.

"Wait- are you- are you-" Dean coughed. Hmm, funny. She had never taken him as one to be so surprised at news like that.

"A lesbian? No. Pansexual? Yes," she grinned. "Angels don't really care, you know."

"Pansexual- that's liking all genders, isn't it?" said Sam, looking at her. She nodded, pride scribbled across her features.

"Okay, then. Hey, no judgement here," Dean said, holding up his hands and shaking his head slightly.

"So- a funeral? Really?" Sam directed his question to Dean.

"Yeah, it's weird, they buried an empty coffin. For, uh, closure or whatever," replied Dean, at the paper.

"Ha. 'Closure,'" Lucille said. "Yeah right.

"Anyways," she said, wanting to avoid the conversation that came next. The boys had argued about John again in the show. She had always hated those conversations. "Lake Manitoc, right? How far?"

"Dean? Dean! Hey!" Sam snapped his fingers in front of Dean's face. The waitress named Wendy had sauntered past once more, drawing the older Winchester's eyes away from the conversation at hand. Lucille groaned at his behavior and laid her head in her arms on the linoleum table.

"Sammy?" Her voice was muffled by her sleeves. "Your brother's an idiot."

* * *

The Impala pulled up to the Carlton household, situated by the edge of a lake. The engine stopped and Sam and Dean stepped out, still dressed in their everyday attire, which Lucille found to be a very poor choice seeing as how they would be posing as agents from the US Wildlife Service.

Lucille's eyes followed them as they made their way to the door. Dean knocked twice, and a man that looked like he was in his early twenties opened the door- Will Carlton, the drowned girl's older brother. They spoke for a moment, then Dean held up a fake badge.

They spoke a few more minutes, before Will led the two brothers around the corner of the house to the lake. The trio was out of Lucille's sight by then, so she leaned back in the seat and pulled her phone out of her duffel. She had already rewatched the next few episodes, so she decided to get back up to speed on the current episodes- well, if you could consider episodes that would technically air in 13 years "current". She had just the season nine finale when she saw Sam and Dean walking back up to the car from the corner of her eye. She groaned, quickly hiding her phone in the bottom of her bag. It was strange, seeing two men in her show, and then seconds later seeing their younger selves in real life.

"So?" she asked as the two brothers swung into the car. Sam looked back at her as Dean started the car.

"Nothin'," he shrugged. "Girl was a great swimmer, and he didn't find any odd tracks or anything."

"Hmm," she hummed, pretending to think- she already knew what it was. "Perhaps a ghost?" she suggested.

Dean looked across the seat to his brother. "Alright, then, it's settled. You and Feathers back there can head on down to a motel, start researching, while I get some lunch, because, _damn_ , it feels like forever since I've eaten!"

"Don't call me Feathers," Lucille mumbled, glaring at the older Winchester. He, of course, ignored her complaints.

They drove in silence for another fifteen minutes, before arriving at a dirty, beat-up motel. Sam quickly checked them in before Dean drove off to pick up some lunch for the three of them. The room, once again, only had two beds, but unlike the previous few it also had a sofa bed.

Lucille sat down on the sofa bed and tossed her stuff beside her, placing her head in her hands. She watched Sam pull out his computer and begin typing through her dark lashes. She honestly still couldn't believe that any of this was happening- Sam, Dean, demons, all of it. Her mind began turning, thinking of all the different ways she could help them with her knowledge. She could save Castiel from the leviathans, stop Sam from becoming a demon blood junkie, save countless people- the possibilities overwhelmed her. But first, she would start small- like helping with this case before any more people died.

The door opened, and Lucille looked up. Dean walked in carrying a large bag of fast food from some place down the road, closing the door behind him with his foot. Sam glanced up from his computer before looking back down, checking over information displayed on the screen.

"So get this," he said, pointing to his screen. "There's the three drowning victims this year, right? But there are six more bodies spread out over the past thirty-five years. Those bodies were never recovered either. If there really is something out there, it's picking up its pace."

"I mean, the lake _is_ being drained, isn't it? I think I saw something about that while we were checking in. So if it's trying to drown people, it won't have much longer. Duh," Lucille said, as if it had been obvious.

"Any leads on the ghost thing?" Dean asked, dumping the bag of food on the table. He quickly unwrapped a burger and took a large bite out of it. Sam crinkled his nose and reached across the counter, grabbing the two salads. He kept one for himself and tossed the other one behind him to Lucille, along with a fork. Nodding in response to his brother's question, Sam pulled up another tab.

"Healthy _freaks_ ," Dean muttered under his breath. Lucille rolled her eyes and popped open the salad.

" _Here_ we go… thirty-five years ago, a little boy named Peter Sweeney disappeared. That was it. They never found him. That was right before the first drowning, a man named Noah Carlton. If I had to guess, I would say that this Sweeney boy had something to do with it." Sam looked up at Dean.

Lucille looked surprised- she hadn't known about the first drowning up until now.

"Noah Carlton… any relation to Sophie Carlton?" said the youngest of the three, setting down her fork. Sam looked surprised.

"Yeah, actually. He is her…" he looked through a couple of tabs. "Great-uncle. How'd you know?"

She rolled her eyes. " _Probably_ because they have the _same last name_. And, I dunno, they both _drowned_? With _no body found_?" Sarcasm dripped heavily from her words as she spoke. Honestly, sometimes she wasn't sure if anyone on this show had heard of _common sense_.

"Any more vics related to them?" She leaned forward, interested. She already knew the answer, but she had never learned their names.

"Yeah, um… her grandfather, William Carlton, and her mom, Charlotte Carlton nee Sinclair. It looks like there was also one unrelated, but not completely. Christopher Barr was Bill Carlton's godson," said Sam, clicking through various tabs.

"What about the other vics? Are they all related to one specific person?" asked Lucille, rubbing her face. She was trying to edge them towards the lead on the sheriff.

"Yeah… Some family named the Devins. Apparently, Christopher Barrs was also Andrea Devins' husband before he drowned."

"Sweeney… huh. This kid have any family?" Dean asked, crumpling his empty wrapper and shooting it into the trash can across the room as if it were a basketball.

"It looks like his mother is still alive. Let's go pay her a visit," said Sam, standing and stretching. His shirt slipped up as his arms reached above his head, exposing a thin strip of tanned skin. Dean ran to his bag, pulling out a suit. Lucille raised an eyebrow at the outfit as Dean stepped out of the bathroom.

"Feds? _Really?_ Seems a little overused, if you ask me." The corner of Lucille's mouth tilted up in a subtle smirk. Dean looked offended as he pulled on the jacket.

"Yeah, well, you can… shut your piehole," Dean said, pointing at her. One again, she marvelled at the ease with which she could ruffle his metaphorical feathers.

They planned out how they would handle everything. Dean would be going to Mrs. Sweeney's house, to ask about Peter. Lucille had laughed at the notion of it, thinking about how awkward it would be to ask about someone who disappeared over thirty-five years ago. Sam would be going to the Carlton's house to ask Bill if he knew anything about Peter, and Lucille would be dropped off at the sheriff's office to ask about him, posing as a lost little girl who had found a dusty blue ball cap in the dirt, with a name tag reading "Peter Sweeney", like the one that Peter was wearing in the picture they had found. They made a quick run to a local clothing shop to get one and wrote the name on it, then covered it with dirt and kicked it around a bit.

Dean dropped himself off at a yellow house with a church standing tall behind it. Sam climbed into the driver's seat, taking over. He pulled up in front of the local police station and let Lucille out with the ball cap, before driving off. She made her way in and walked straight to the sheriff's office, knocking on the door. She heard a voice tell her to come in, and she complied.

"Hello, what are you doing here?" His voice was condescending, demeaning. She resisted scowling and played along.

"I found this outside, and I was wondering if you knew who it belonged to. I don't live here, so..." she trailed off, speaking in a small, innocent voice, and held up the hat. He visibly stiffened for a second, before relaxing and reaching out for it. He read the name scribble on the lining inside the cap and froze, looking at Lucille.

"Where did you find this?" he asked in a tight voice, his tone stiff.

"Outside the motel me and my brothers are staying at! We're travelling the country."

"Yes, I know who this belongs to. I'll have it brought to him," the sheriff said. Wow, he was bad at lying.

"Oh, it's no trouble, I can bring it to him! Where's he live?" she exclaimed, smiling brightly. She wanted to see just how far she could push him.

"No, no, we'll handle this. You go back on home to your… brothers, you said?" She nodded, turning to leave. She paused with her hand on the door handle, looking back over her shoulder.

"Well, tell this _Peter_ you're welcome for me, okay? I mean, I could have just tossed it in the _lake_ ," she said with her head tilted over her shoulder, eyes accented with what may have appeared as malicious intent. A small, smug grin graced her face as she walked out, leaving a stunned sheriff in her wake. A young woman and her son walked in as she exited the building- Andrea and Lucas Barr. She waved to the young child, but he didn't respond. She could tell just by looking at him that he was in his own mind, an escape from reality. Clenched in one hand were a couple of blunt crayons, the other stuffed with wrinkled pieces of paper. She quickly walked away, not wanting to involve him in this mess like what had happened the first time, in the show. His eyes followed her as she walked out with her head down. Small fingers tightened around a messy drawing.

It was late afternoon as she walked through the streets of the lakeside town, making her way to the Carlton household. Seeing nobody outside, nor anybody peering through the windows, she quickly swung into the Impala. She found her sketchbook on the floorboard, along with a couple pencils, and began to draw the lake displayed in front of her. The simple sketch she had started out with turned into a fully detailed monochromatic drawing by the time Sam exited the house, swearing under his breath. He swung into the driver's seat of the Impala, too wrapped up in his own thoughts to notice Lucille sitting behind him. She reached over the back of the seat and tapped on his shoulder. His hand flew up, gripping her wrist tightly and he twisted her arm.

"Crap, crap, sorry!" he said, noticing who it was and immediately releasing her. He winced.

"You should be," she muttered, rubbing her wrist. "So? What happened?"

"I'll tell you everything, just as soon as we get Dean." They drove off, leaving the dirt driveway of the lakeside house for dark, paved roads. It didn't take long to find the little yellow house with a church superimposed behind it. Sam quickly slid over to the passenger seat to make room for his brother.

"So, apparently, Peter, Bill Carlton, and the sheriff, Jake Devins, were all buddy-buddy before Peter disappeared," Dean said as he slipped into the driver's seat.

"About that- I think it's targeting Bill Carlton's family. And it's not just in the lake. Anywhere the lake reaches, this thing can get. It pulled Will, Bill's son, down through the sink when he went to get a glass of water. I barely managed to get him back," Sam said, massaging his temples.

"Ooh! Ooh, me next, me next!" Lucille said sarcastically, raising her hand as if she were in class for show-and-tell. She could almost hear Dean rolling his eyes.

"So, I think that the sheriff _did_ have something to do with it. He never even corrected me when I asked if he knew Peter's address. He just told me that he would take care of it. I, for one, found him to be _quite_ a horrendous liar."

"Alright, so we've got Bill Carlton and the sheriff. We know that this ghost is targeting their families through the water. So I would say that they got a little too rough while playing in the lake. I bet… oh, God no. _Please_ tell me they didn't just let the body sink in the lake!" Lucille wasn't quite sure who Dean was talking to, so she stayed silent until she thought of something suitable to say. She pulled her wavy blonde hair back into a ponytail, brushing it back with her fingers.

"Well, how I see it, we have two options. Either, A. we find the body at the bottom of the lake and burn it, or B. both perpetrators' lives are taken by Peter. Either works for me," she said, shrugging. As far as she was concerned, they could die- they had literally murdered a young child and hid the body. Plus, this way they could avoid the death of Will, and anyone else who happened to be caught in the crossfire.

"We can't just kill two innocent people! Lucille, there has to be another way," said Sam, expressing shock at her suggestion.

"First of all, would _you_ like to be the one to dive to the bottom of a lake and dig up a pile of bones? Secondly, they're not really innocent. They murdered a child. Let me repeat that; they _murdered_ a _child_. Besides, what's two more lives? If they don't die now, then many more _actually_ innocent people will, including a, what, five year old kid?" Lucille responded. There was the fake "I'm an angels, a few human lives don't matter" card again. It was honestly the easiest way to get cases done properly. Her conscience was screaming at her, but she knew that being in this world meant having a different mindset.

"We can't just… no, Lucille. We're not going to kill two people just to solve a case. We _will_ find another way," Sam pressed, unaware of how ironic that statement would be later in life, when they killed essentially anything that moved when working a case.

Lucille yawned and stretched as they pulled into the motel parking lot. It was late; stars shone brightly above them, the moon bathing the parking lot in soft, white light. Lucille reached over the front seat and grabbed the keys to their room from Sam's hand, before jumping out of the car and walking inside the room. She paused in the doorway and looked over her shoulder at the brothers who were just getting out of the car.

"Hurry up, before I lock you out," she said impatiently. Dean held up his hands in defence, his lips moving slightly to form the word "Alright".

"Actually," she reconsidered her plan of action. "I'm going for a walk. And _don't_ try to stop me, or I swear to Chuck…" She trailed off, lifting her hand in the air. The leather sleeve slipped down, revealing the tip of the Angel Blade. She pointed at it with her other hand.

" _Chuck_? I'm sorry, who exactly is _Chuck_?" Sam questioned her, his eyes narrowed and head tilted in a confused expression. She hesitated, realizing what she had said and trying to think of a suitable answer.

"He was… Chuck was one of the past Prophets of the Lord- one of the most renowned Prophets, in fact." Well, for the most part it was true- except the fact that he wasn't a past Prophet. He was the current "prophet". Her eyes widened.

"I, uh… I have to go," she said, tossing the motel room key to Dean. She set off at a run down the street, ignoring Sam and Dean's calls to her. She kept running until the voices faded into the background, and only then did she fall to her knees. She bowed her head briefly before looking up at the sky.

"Chuck, if you can hear me, I know what, or who, you are. Was it you that sent me here? Or an angel? I don't know what to think anymore. But I promise, if I was brought here to fix things, then I will. I will save the Winchesters, the angels, all of them. It's just all so weird…" She paused. "I never thought that any of this was real, but now here I am. I have an angel blade, which I have _no_ idea how I got my hands on it, I hunted a Wendigo and a ghost with my favorite characters… Why was I sent here? Please, answer me…

"Then again, I know you won't." She laughed bitterly. "You never helped any of them. Oh, and, spoiler for that little books series you're writing. Everyone dies in the end." Lucille looked down at her hands, supporting the majority of her weight against the ground. Her fingers dug into the soft dirt.

A loud crash of thunder stilled her raging thoughts. Dark clouds had formed overhead, lightning illuminating them from within. She remained sitting there, defeated, until the rain began to pour down. She stood, swearing, and began walking back in the direction from which she came.

"Nice sign you've given me there, God," she muttered under her breath. A flash of lightning glowed against the dark backdrop of clouds, as if it were a response to her exasperation. She shivered against the wind, pulling her jacket tighter around her. She was walking along the edge of the lake on the way back to the motel when something caught her eye.

"Mr. Carlton," she whispered in horror. She could here faint traces of the words he was shouting into the wind.

"Is this… wanted… Peter? I'm… sorry…" That was the last word she heard before he dove into the lake. She couldn't tell if it was Peter getting his revenge, or simply the waves created from the storm that dragged him under. Either way, he was gone.

She ran as fast as her long legs would take her. She quickly opened the door to the motel and stood, soaked and shivering in the doorway. Sam and Dean immediately stood up and rushed to her, guiding her in. She sat down on the sofa bed and wrapped her arms around herself. Sam ran to the bathroom and pulled a towel off of the counter, and soon both brothers were at her side.

The younger of the two wrapped the towel around Lucille. She smiled shakily up at him. He gave an awkward sort of smile back. Dean cleared his throat.

"So, mind explaining why you ran off like that?" He sounded a bit too much like an overprotective parent, in Lucille's opinion.

"I… uh…" She was at a loss for answers. "Angel stuff?" she said hopefully.

Dean made a small noise of unconvinced acknowledgement.

"You're freezing!" Sam exclaimed. From her short experience, Dean was more of the "ask first, help later" kind of parent, and Sam was the "help first, ask later" kind. "Here, go change."

He helped the shivering girl to her feet and led her to the bathroom after she grabbed her duffel bag. She could hear the brothers speaking outside of the thin door of the bathroom as she changed into warmer, dry clothes. She wrapped her hair in the slightly damp towel and walked back into the main room of the motel. Sam and Dean were both leaning against the wall, arms crossed.

"So?" Sam asked. "Where'd you go?"

"Bill Carlton is dead," she said shortly. Sam gaped at her, but Dean didn't look surprised.

"How? Did you-"

"Hold on, Sammy. I think I get it. So, you throw a little angelic temper tantrum and decide to go murder somebody, is that right? Well, I, for one, am not surprised," the elder Winchester said. Lucille threw her hands up, exasperated, mouthing the words "What even".

"I didn't have a _temper tantrum_ ," she said grumpily. "And I most certainly did _not_ kill that awful man. He jumped in the lake, and I just happened to be there to witness it. He was talking to Peter Sweeney, I believe."

Dean was unconvinced. "Okay, so it just so _happened_ that Bill Carlton kicks the bucket just after you storm out because of an argument about killing him, with an angel blade no less. Yeah, sure, I believe you." His tone was filled with unhindered sarcasm, to the point where Lucille wanted to laugh. Instead, she raised an eyebrow, amused.

"Oh, _Winchesters_. So _full of themselves_." Before all of _this_ had happened, she would have punched anyone who _dare_ disrespect her baby Winchesters. Now? She kind of wanted to punch the Winchesters herself. "You thought that you upset me?" She laughed condescendingly. "Oh, no. I, unlike you, don't have a life revolving around slaughtering things, half of which don't even deserve it." No, she had a life revolving around _watching them_ slaughter stuff- although, before, it had all been fictional. Now it just seemed so much more… real. "See, when I was… an angel, I helped people. I didn't hurt them- what do you take me for, a grigori? No, the reason I was expelled from Heaven was because I was helping the humans. I abandoned my post as an intelligence angel to do what the others would not- help, answer prayers. And where exactly did that get me? Here, in this _dump_. Helping _you_ , because you're so spe-" she cut herself off, having almost revealed later events, that, hopefully, would never come to pass.

So far, she had treated this whole thing as one big game of LARP, or extreme improv. She still had yet to realize that her actions in this world may affect their lives, big time.

"Hey, _I'm_ not the one who-" Sam cut his brother off.

"Dean," he said. "What can you expect? She's an angel, man. A few lives don't matter to her." He refused to look at her. She stared at him, shocked. It was somewhat out of character for him to say something like that.

"Seriously? You think _that's_ it? I'm trying to _save_ lives here. I can't help it if some are going to be lost in the process. Besides, their souls were so… dark." She laughed internally as she feigned being able to see souls. "And don't act like you haven't had to sacrifice a few not-so-innocent people in order to save the innocent," she quickly said, before they could interrupt. The brothers stood silent, arms crossed.

"Alright, fine. Say that he did jump on his own. Answer me this: why'd he do it?" Dean asked, trying to counter Lucille's argument.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Isn't it obvious? Almost all his family's been killed. He must have realized what it was by now." She rubbed her face with her left hand. "Honestly, hunters… the Men of Letters could do so much _better_ than this…" she mumbled under her breath. Her face lit up.

"That's it!" She said to herself. Unfortunately, the Winchester sons noticed.

"What's it?" asked Sam, looking at her with his eyebrows raised in a confused fashion. She looked at him.

"Nothing," She said, devising a plan in her mind. "Let's finish this case, then I have something to show you.

"To: the sheriff's house!" She turned on her heel before slowly turning back, holding up a finger. "In the morning."

Sam nodded, his lips in the shape of what the 2018 internet had dubbed the "white person smile".

Lucille pulled the sofa out to be a full length bed. She quickly curled up on it and pulled the folded blanket on the end over her, still cold from being out in the rain. She shut her eyes, desperate for sleep. The light that illuminated the inside of her eyelids quickly disappeared as Sam flicked it off. The rustle of fabric indicated the brothers slipping into their own beds.

* * *

Lucille's face was stained wet with tears of fright when she awoke. She had dreamed of the wendigo, prowling through the forest, chasing the young "angel". It had been towering over her, almost three times her height, when she awoke.

She looked through the slim break in the curtains behind the bed- it was still dark outside. Sam and Dean were still asleep, as far as she could tell. She could barely make out the slow rise and fall of their chests. Slipping out of the thin blanket, Lucille quietly pulled clothes out of her surprisingly large duffel. It held almost a full weeks worth of outfits.

She padded over to the bathroom and changed quickly. She opened her duffel once more and stuffed the clothes she had slept in inside and pulled out her phone, earbuds, and headphone adapter. She was still pissed at Apple for not putting a headphone jack in the actual phone.

She charged her phone while she could, but tried not to use it too much.

She proceeded to watch a few more episodes of Supernatural, in season 10, before closing the Netflix app as the sun rose up. She researched a couple more Supernatural-based things before hastily shoving her phone to the bottom of her bag when she heard the rustling of sheets that signified the waking of a Winchester.

Lucille sat up on the sofa- she had pushed the bed back in when she woke up- and watched as Dean yawned and stretched.

He rested his forearm on his forehead and blinked blearily.

"Ugh, what _time_ is it?" Lucille giggled quietly at his pre-coffee state. She peered at the alarm clock resting on the bedside table between the brothers' beds.

"7:48," She said in response. He groaned.

Lucille pulled out the shining angel blade as he changed. Dragging it along the beige wallpaper in the motel room, she grinned. It created thin rips, from which the paper curled out slightly. She lightly pressed the tip of the pointed blade against her finger, exhaling sharply as it pricked open her tan skin. A bead of dark red blood gathered on the tip of her finger, before tracing its way slowly down her hand. She quickly came to her senses and wiped the blood away, sucking on the wound. The small tear in her skin quickly faded.

"Rise and shine, Sammy!" called out Dean as he exited the bathroom. Lucille grimaced at the wake up call, thinking of the episode "Mystery Spot". She couldn't wait to meet Gabriel in season two- if she stayed in this universe that long. Sam groaned and sat up.

"Why _you_ up so early?" He questioned his brother, squinting against the pale sunlight streaming through the curtains. Dean shrugged and pointed to Lucille.

"Ask her."

Lucille opened her mouth in loud protest. "Hey. I may have gotten up early, but I was in _no way_ loud enough to wake you." Dean glared at her out of the corner of his eye.

Sam quickly got ready. Soon, they were out the door and on their way to the sheriff's office. The Impala has barely stopped outside the building when Lucille jumped out of the back, calling behind her to the brothers that she would be going on a walk while they interrogated the sheriff.

Her previously shiny shoes quickly became scuffed, the dark black dulled to a brownish-grey from the dirt. It was the first time she had worn them since arriving in this world- in fact, she hadn't even noticed them before. She had only found them in her bag once she had gotten bored of her old sneakers she had been wearing.

A small wad of cash was stashed in her back pocket- she planned on getting some food while she waited for the Winchester's. She walked along the sidewalk, her eyes lazily traveling over the scenery.

A door flung open to her left, and she jumped. Lucille stared at Lucas; his expression was urgent. She quickly remembered what had happened in the episode- Andrea had been in the bath when Peter Sweeney's spirit attempted to drown her. Admittedly, it had been much later in the day, but there was no time for her to dwell on that. Maybe there had been some kind of butterfly effect that had happened since Lucille was there.

"Lucas!" She called to him. He pointed up the stairs. A very faint, muffled, gurgling scream could be heard from the bathroom. Lucille quickly rushed inside past Lucas and dashed up the stairs. Water seeped out from underneath the bathroom door, spreading through the hallway. She stepped into the puddle to reach the doorknob. Of course- _locked_. She pushed on the door some more, hoping it would open. No luck.

Standing back, she looked at the door with apprehension for a few seconds. She pushed Lucas, who had followed her up the stairs, to the side.

"Stay back, buddy."

Timidly placing her foot on the door, she pressed on it. When that didn't achieve anything, she drew her foot back and kicked as hard as she could. Luckily, it was old and wooden, and a few cracks appeared in the door. She kicked again, even harder, and the doorframe shattered. She stumbled forward and focused on not slipping.

The bathtub was overflowing with dark, murky water. Andrea writhed inside, pulled down by an invisible force. She could barely see the tip of her nose breach the dark water. Lucille rushed forward and hooked her arms under Andrea, pointedly ignoring the fact that she was completely nude.

They struggled against the spirit, pulling Andrea out of the water. They both gasped as the spirit finally let go- it had been like tug-of-war with a ghost. She finally appreciated all those times her brother had forced her to do weight training with him. Lucille was still too weak to carry her to somewhere else, instead opting to place her on the wet bathroom floor. She quickly pulled a towel off the hook beside the tub and draped it over her. Andrea lay on the floor, shivering, as Lucille ran to find a robe. When she came back Lucas was kneeling next to his mother, who had sat up and was breathing heavily. The towel clung to her front, But was loosely wrapped around her back. She looked up as Lucille entered the room.

"Hey," Lucille said. She wrapped the robe around Andrea's back. "You good?"

Andrea looked confused at what had just happened, but nodded anyways.

"Wha- what just happened?" She sounded distressed. Lucille cringed. She had always found it easy in her world to explain what had happened in the television show, but it wasn't just a show anymore. She was finding it a Hell of a lot harder to explain now.

"I'll explain everything later," she said, helping her stand. "First, you need to get some clothes on."

Lucille tried talking to Lucas as his mother got dressed, to no avail. She was drawing alongside him in silence when Andrea walked back into the room, fully clothed.

"Do you have a phone?" Lucille asked, sliding the intricate drawing of Lucas she had made across the table to him.

"Yeah," She said, pointing to the living room. "In there."

Lucille found a corded telephone beside the couch and wrinkled her nose. She had forgotten that, not only was she in an alternate world, she was also in the past. Did people really use these in this time period?

She slipped a small piece of paper with two cell phone numbers on it out of the pocket of her red leather jacket, one labeled "Dean" and the other "Sam". She quickly pushed the numbers that corresponded with Dean's cell, then put the phone to her ear. She had only used a phone like this once before, at her grandmother's house.

She listened to it ring twice before it was answered.

"Dean?"

"Lucille? Where are you? We just finished up. Apparently, the sher-" Lucille cut him off.

"Yeah, yeah, later. Hurry up, I'm at…" she peered out through the window and told him the address. "We've got a situation."

"Got it," he said, hanging up. Lucille put the phone back on its base at the absence of sound coming through.

She wandered back into the kitchen and leaned against the counter, watching Andrea and Lucas. The woman looked closely at Lucille.

"Aren't you that girl who was at my dad's office the other day?" She asked. Lucille nodded, impressed.

"Huh, you remember me. We literally only passed by each other once."

"Hair like yours is pretty hard to _not_ remember," She said, staring at Lucille's hair. It was platinum blonde, almost white, with slightly darker roots. It was all natural, but it was probably going to get at least a bit darker as she aged. They fell silent.

"I've got someone coming by to explain all this, don't worry," Lucille assured her, breaking the gentle silence.

"Worry? Of course I'm going to worry!I… I think I might be going insane," she whispered through her hands.

The headlights of the Impala shone through the window. Lucille rushed to the front door and flung it open as Sam and Dean walked up the short path leading to it. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, crossing her arms.

"Alright, Feathers, What happened?" Dean said. Lucille frowned at the nickname.

"I don't _have_ feathers anymore," She said, feigning confusion. Dean looked at her, amused.

"Just- what happened?" Sam said, glaring between the two. Lucille smiled innocently at him.

"I was walking down this street when Lucas, the sheriff's grandson, opened the front door. He appeared urgent, so I followed him up the stairs. His mother, Andrea, was drowning in the bathtub, seemingly caused by the spirit of Peter Sweeney. I got her out, but one of you will have to explain to her what happened." She altered her story slightly, seeing as they may have found it odd that she just rushed up the stairs without any reason. They seemed to buy the story.

"Why can't you tell her?" Sam asked. Lucille shrugged, stepping away from the door.

"Simply put, I'm bad at explaining things. Also, I have realized that _you_ seem to be very good at it," Sam was unamused, but went headed inside, anyway.

Dean and Lucille followed him inside, turning towards the sitting area rather than the kitchen, which was where he was heading. Dean looked through various scrapbooks with worn and tattered covers as the younger Winchester explained the situation to Andrea.

Lucille stood facing Dean, studying his features as he focused on the book. He flipped a page and suddenly looked up, turning the scrapbook towards the "angel". She jumped slightly before peering at the picture his index finger rested on. It was an old, monochromatic picture of two boys, one of which was Peter Sweeney. He peeled back the corner and read the back of the picture, peering over the top of the book.

"It's the sheriff and Peter as kids," Lucille observed. Dean nodded and flipped the book back towards him, browsing the pages. The sound of a door opening came from the kitchen and the duo looked up. Lucille stuck her head around the corner and motioned behind her for Dean to follow her.

"They're going out into the woods," she said, following the small pack that Lucas was leading. She and Dean quickly caught up to them, and she reached her arm up in an attempt to sling it around Sam's shoulder. He looked down at her with amusement.

" _Hey_ , Sammy! Mind telling us what exactly we're doing out here? In the _humidity_?" She smiled sarcastically up at him, her hair already frizzing.

"My name's not _Sammy_ ," he said with contempt.

"Samantha," she coughed under her breath. He pointedly chose to ignore that comment.

"Lucas has something to show us," he said, answering her question.

 _Right, the bike!_ She thought to herself.

Lucas brought them to a patch of dirt, slightly less healthy than the grass around it. He looked down at the dirt, then up at Lucille. She turned to the brothers.

"Shovels from the Impala, hurry up," she directed them. They didn't question it, quickly following her orders. They returned with two shovels in hand shortly after.

"You and Lucas get back to the house and stay there, okay? Lucille will keep you safe," Dean said to Andrea. He looked pointedly at Lucille and nodded towards the house once their backs were turned and they were heading out of the forest. She rolled her eyes and turned on her heel, following them.

As they all stood in the kitchen, Lucille and Andrea noticed the sheriff standing beside the boys, who had uncovered a dull red bike. He had a pistol trained on the Winchester's. Andrea turned to Lucas.

"Go to your room, sweetie. Now. Lock the door and wait for me. Don't come out," she told her son. Lucas quickly ran off, while Andrea flew outside. She ran up to the trio as quickly as possible, Lucille following at a much slower pace.

"Dad!" Andrea called out. Lucille saw the boys' lips moving, but was too far away to hear anything. She turned and ran her fingers through the ends of her hair, trying to think of what happened next. Her head shot up and she gasped.

"Lucas!"

She looked around and saw the small boy walking cautiously towards the water. She called out to him, trying to get him to stop, but it was as if he didn't hear a word she said. She ran after him.

Lucille watched in despair as Lucas knelt on the edge of the pier, leaning over the waters. Her foot slipped on water carelessly splashed on the deck as she ran. She stumbled forwards and fell as Lucas' small hand touched the water. She reached out and snagged his ankle in a feeble attempt to keep him above waters.

Peter's supernatural strength quickly overpowered her and both Lucas and Lucille were pulled under. She screamed, " _Dean!_ " as loudly as she could and inhaling as deeply as was possible before she was pulled headfirst into the water.

Water seeped into her clothes, weighing her down and making it harder to swim upwards. She still had an iron grip around Lucas' leg, but it seemed that Peter had the same intense hold on his wrist. Her thin white skirt floated around her, tangling around her long legs. She refused to open her eyes, knowing that she wouldn't be able to see anything. Even if she could, she didn't want to face a little ghost boy smiling up at her. Everything ached- her lungs burned from the lack of oxygen, her legs sore from relentless kicking in the water. She felt an arm wrap around her waist and struggled against it.

She quickly realized that it was either Sam or Dean and relaxed. She could faintly hear shouting from above the water. Her legs continued kicking at a steady pace, realizing that Peter had let go of Lucas. She pulled him up to her level and hugged him to her chest. They broke the surface and she inhaled deeply. Dean was treading water in front of her and quickly reached out to take Lucas, cradling him in his arms. The young boy's body was still. Lucille closed her eyes and tried to remember what she had learned in her fourth grade swimming class.

"Put him on the pier," she instructed Dean, breathing heavily. She ducked her head back underwater and swam towards land. She reached the deck before Dean and lifted her arms onto it. She pressed down and twisted her body in the air, landing with her legs swinging off the wood. She quickly swung her legs up onto the platform and rested on her knees. She reached down for Lucas as Dean approached. Laying him flat on the deck, Lucille's hands found the center of his chest and pressed down. She repeated the chest compressions for almost a minute before the young boy began breathing again.

He coughed and water leaked out of his mouth. She was quick to help him sit up and rubbed his back. Andrea knelt beside her son and hugged him close.

"Thank you," she sobbed, leaning back and pulling Lucas into her lap. Lucille smiled gently, standing. Her wet clothes clung to her body, except for the red leather jacket that had proved to be water-resistant.

"No problem." Lucas looked up at her.

"Thanks," he whispered quietly.

* * *

Sam, Dean, and Lucille took turns showering at the motel. Soon, they were all in clean, dry clothes. Their packed bags laid in the Impala alongside Lucille, who was sitting with one leg crossed over the other in the backseat. She quickly opened the door and jumped out as she saw Andrea and Lucas approach from across the street. She grinned and waved.

Sam and Dean walked around the side of the car.  
"Hey," Dean said.  
"We're glad we caught you. We just, um, we made you lunch for the road." She gestured to Lucas, who was balancing a tray of sandwiches on his palm. She smiled down at her son.  
"He insisted on making the sandwiches himself," said Andrea, smiling apologetically. Lucas looked up at his mother.  
"Can I give it to them now?"  
"Of course." She smiled and kissed Lucas' head. Lucille reached out and hooked an arm around Lucas' head.  
"Come on, kid, let's load these into the car," she said, leading him forward. They placed the tray in the backseat of the car. Lucille knelt down and whispered to Lucas.

"This is where I sit. Do you want to hide the sandwiches somewhere so Sam and Dean won't find them?" He nodded enthusiastically. He put them on the floorboard under the seat, then Lucille slid her duffel bag in front of them.  
She pressed a kiss to his forehead and smiled.

"Alright kid, you take good care of your mom, alright?"

He nodded. "Thank you, Luci." She had told him he could say Luci instead of Lucille, and he had immediately complied- much unlike Sam and Dean.

"Now remember, ' _manere frigus.'_ " It was a Latin phrase that literally meant "Stay cool". He repeated the phrase back to her. She smiled gently and lightly shoved him back towards his mother.

She swung into the car and closed the door behind her, pressing her forehead to the window. She smiled at the sight of Dean interacting with Lucas. The brothers soon slid into the car as well, and they were on the road.

"Now, where are those sandwiches?"


	6. Grounded

**Chapter 6: Grounded**

 **I legitimately cannot wait to write Tall Tales, just because of Gabriel**

 **Writing fluffy moments makes me happy, there are a lot of them in this chapter**

 **If you haven't noticed, amused is one of my favorite words**

 **Oh yeah, you know how Sam and Dean have 'catchphrases'? "So get this" and "Son of a bitch'? I determined a catchphrase for Lucille. I won't tell you tho. Try and guess it. She uses it once this chapter.**

 **Follow alex_art_ilms on Instagram. They did art for this fanfic.**

 **Sorry if the other languages aren't very good, I mostly rely on Google translate.**

"Sam. Dean," Lucille called out from her seat on the edge of the bed, her legs swinging. They looked up from Sam's computer. She stood, pushing herself off the bed. Her fingers quickly snagged the pastel pink snapback on the nightstand and shoved it over the waves of her blonde hair.

"There's something you need to know about your family," she said, clasping her hands together nervously. Dean scoffed.

"What now? Let me guess- we come from a long line of demons and will turn into one ourselves when we turn thirty?" he said sarcastically. She rolled her eyes.

"No, dumbass," she said, unamused. She cocked her head to the side and studied him for a moment.

"Hey, language," he warned her. She raised her eyebrows and laughed.

"I'm an angel, I'll say whatever I damn well please." That was her excuse for everything now. She had finally begun to naturally act like an angel after forcing herself away from the most human aspects of her personality. Well, at least she wasn't a douchebag like the majority of angels. He glared at her and turned away.

"So what was it you were going to tell us?" Sam asked, looking away from his computer.

"What do you know of Henry Winchester?" she asked, leaning against the wall. The brothers scowled.

"He _was_ our grandfather," Dean said through his teeth. Lucille closed her eyes and pressed her fingers to her temples.

"Okay, I understand that you must hate him, correct? Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but it's because he left your father at a young age? Well, I have some rather shocking news for you." She dropped her voice to a low stage whisper. "He didn't leave willingly." The corners of her mouth turned down slightly as she saw no change in expression from either of them.

"Like we're supposed to believe that," Dean said.

"Let me start from the beginning. Once upon a time, there was a secret society that went by the name of the Men of Letters. They were a group of… elite hunters, I suppose. They've accomplished many things. For example, in the late 17th century, they helped wipe out almost all of the Grand Coven, which was sort of the government of witches. Salem witch trials. They did extraordinarily in-depth research, which they have kept in chapter houses all over the world. However, in 1958, the main American chapter house was wiped out, along with the majority of its members. One of the survivors, of course, was your grandfather." She paused, letting this new information sink in.

"So you're telling me that we're… legacies, of some fancy secret society? Likely story. Even if he _was_ part of this 'Men of Letters', if he survived, why didn't he go back to our father?" Dean scoffed again. Sam frowned and looked down.

"Let me _continue_ ," she grit out through her teeth. Winchester's, she found, could be extremely insufferable at times. "Now, the _reason_ ," she glared at Dean, "he didn't go back was because he _couldn't_. He survived, but only because of- get this, time travel. Before you say what I know you're about to say, time travel isn't impossible," she said in reaction to Dean opening his mouth, most likely about to argue. He closed his mouth and crossed his arms over his chest. "There are several different ways to time travel- for example, angels. In _this_ instance, it was a blood sigil to bring Henry to his next of kin. I'm not sure why, but it brought him somewhere in the future- even farther than the current time. He brought with him the key to the Men of Letters chapter houses- it opens them all over the world. So, basically, the key is not in the time period of 1958 to whenever he landed. Now, I happen to have a spare. The angels recreated it, and I stole it before I fell. Would you like to go see if it works? I couldn't get in before due to powerful warding against angels, but now, without my grace? I should be able to get in."

Upon further inspection of her bag, she had discovered that almost all of the relics she used for cosplaying back in her world- yes, she was a cosplayer- had been turned real. She didn't have it all, though- some things, like her First Blade, had been left back in her world, while others that had come across, like the archangel blade or tablets with the Word of God, had not become real. Definitely still plastic- she supposed that those may have been too powerful, as there were only a set amount of each in this world- only four archangel blades, and only one of each tablet. However, there were many keys and angel blades in this world- who was going to notice one more?

"Mm hmm," Dean made a noise of disbelief. "And where is this _chapter house_?"

She coughed and avoided his gaze. "Uh, difficult to say. The warding has made it impossible to pinpoint the building exactly, but I know what city and what it looks like."

"Sammy?" Dean turned to look at his younger brother with an expression that said "Do you believe this?". Sam held his hands up.

"Why not? I mean, just think about all the lore we could have right at our fingertips," he said, looking at Lucille. She grinned smugly. Dean looked at his brother incredulously.

"Seriously? We still don't know if _anything_ she's told us so far is the truth! How do we even know Lucille is her real name?" She looked up sharply. She stalked forwards until she was only a foot from the older Winchester.

"I'm sorry, _what_ was that? I've been helping you hunt for the past, what, month? The least you could do is believe me when I say my name is Lu-" she was cut off by the ringing of a phone. Dean picked it up, holding his hand up in front of her face. She scoffed and stepped back.

"Hello?"

"Oh, right, yeah. Up in Kittanning, Pennsylvania, the poltergeist thing. It's not back, is it?"

"What is it?"

Lucille faintly heard the words "talk in person" and frowned. Her eyes widened as she realized what episode it was. She hadn't gotten a chance to rewatch it because Sam hardly ever slept, so there was almost always another conscious person in the room. Dean hung up.

"Can the secret society thing be put on hold? We have a case," he said, standing. She groaned and watched him pack his things. Sam quickly followed suit, and Lucille begrudgingly pulled her duffel over her shoulder.

"Fine. So, uh, where are we going?" she asked.

"Pennsylvania. An old friend of my dad's said he found something that might be up our alley," he said, zipping up his bag. Sam left to go check out of the motel and came back shortly.

Lucille noticed the keys to the Impala sticking out of Dean's pocket. She walked purposefully towards the door, 'accidentally' bumping into Dean. Her hand slipped inside his pocket and carefully pulled the keys out, before she quickly apologized. She stuffed her hands inside her pockets so he wouldn't see the keys clenched in the left one.

She slipped passed Sam in the doorway and unlocked the car, hands still in her pockets. She glanced behind her before pulling the back door open and sliding inside, locking the car behind her. She laid on her stomach and began sketching out a drawing of Castiel in her sketchbook. Her pastel converse kicked in the air behind her. She was a good artist- before coming to this world, she had been going to art school for three years. She majored in visual arts, with dance being her minor.

It took all of five minutes for Dean to realize what had occured, and Lucille looked up innocently as he rapped on the window. Her eyes grew wide at his expression- he was mad. Like, _really_ mad. She quickly unlocked the car and shied back as the door flew open. He yanked the keys out of her hand.

"Don't touch my Baby," he threatened. The door closed once more, and she let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. She laughed nervously and continued drawing. She pulled out her colored pencils from the bottom of her bag as the brothers loaded into the car. Sam turned around in his seat, amused.

"You actually thought you could you could mess with his Baby with no consequences?" He laughed as she mock pouted. The car started and pulled out of the motel parking lot.

"Shut up," she said, sitting up. She pulled the sketchbook into her lap and dug through the large pencil case for a color that suited Castiel's skin. Sam looked at the intricate drawing with praise written in expression.

"Who is that?" he asked Lucille. She looked up.

"Ca-" she hesitated. "A man, named Jimmy Novak. He's one of the more memorable faces that I've seen as an angel." She turned the page, uncomfortable with the staring. She propped her legs up so the sketchbook was tilted away from Sam, before studying his face. He looked confused.

"What?" he asked, raising a hand to his face. She laughed lightly.

"Nothing," she sighed, amused. She began drawing his face, swearing lightly under her breath every time the car rocked and jolted her hand out of place.

* * *

"Thanks for making the trip so quick. I ought to be doing you guys a favor, not the other way around. Dean and your dad really helped me out," said Jerry Panowski, a short man around Lucille's height, as they walked through an airplane hangar in Kittanning, Pennsylvania. He looked at Lucille. "Haven't heard of you though. She one of yours?" He looked between Sam and Dean. Their eyes widened and they shook their heads vigorously.

"Oh, uh, the name's Lucille. I'm training to be a hunter," she said quickly. He readily accepted the response and they continued walking.

"No last name, huh?"

"Uh…" she ran through possible last names in her head, not wanting to use her own. Bradbury? No. Macleod? Nope. Winchester? Definitely not. "Morningstar." She cringed at her choice- it was the translation for Lucifer. It appeared Sam knew that too, because he frowned in her direction.

Sam quickly drew the attention back to him. "Yeah, he told us about that. It was a poltergeist?" Dean had talked about it in the car- Lucille hadn't really listened, but she caught bits and pieces.

" _Poltergeist_? Man, I loved that movie." She rolled her eyes at the passing comment from a worker. She noticed that all of the workers wore a dark uniform- she also noticed that she really stood out in her pastel outfit- light wash jeans, baby pink converse and ballcap, and a pastel yellow jacket over a white t-shirt. She frowned at the dark atmosphere.

"Hey, nobody's talking to you. Keep walking," Jerry called out to the employee. "Damn right it was a poltergeist, practically tore our house apart. Tell you something, if it wasn't for you and your dad, I probably wouldn't be alive. Your dad said you were off at college. Is that right?" Lucille looked to Sam to see how he would react. A brief emotion flitted across his face, but it was gone before she could pinpoint what it was.

"Yeah, I was. I'm… taking some time off."

"Well, he was real proud of you. I could tell. He talked about you all the time," Jerry said, looking over his shoulder at Sam. Lucille trailed her hand lightly on the different airplanes as they passed them.

"He did?" Sam sounded surprised. She smiled sadly at the thought of him being shocked that his father was proud.

Yeah, you bet he did." He smiled shortly, then turned to Dean. "Oh, hey, you know I tried to get a hold of him, but I couldn't. How's he doing, anyway?"

"He's, um, wrapped up in a job right now." Although she was behind them, Lucille could still hear the hesitation in his voice.

'Well, we're missing the old man, but we get Sam and Lucille here. Even trade, huh?" He turned towards them and walked backwards as he spoke, a grin on his face. Dean laughed, but Sam's face fell slightly. Lucille grinned brightly.

"No, not by a long shot." Lucille frowned and reached up, attempting to swing an arm around his shoulders.

"Don't say that, Sammy! You know, I was included in that 'even trade', okay? So be as self-deprecating as you want, just don't diss me." He grinned and ducked under her arm, wrapping his own around her. She stiffened slightly- this was the closest she had been to one of his favorite characters. If Sam noticed, he didn't comment on it.

"Alright, _Lucifer_ ," he said in a teasing voice before remembering that she was an angel and that was probably offensive. He began to remove his arm but she quickly grabbed his wrist and held it down. She glared up at him.

"Okay, first of all, don't call me that. Second of all, I'm cold. This jacket is thin," she said, pressing into his side. He rolled his eyes, but didn't pull away. Dean looked at her and snickered.

"I will smite you," she mouthed to him. He raised an eyebrow, amused.

"I got something I want you guys to hear," Jerry said, ignoring their conversation. They turned into an office. Jerry rounded the desk and opened a drawer, pulling out a CD. Sam and Dean each sat in a chair in front of the desk, leaving Lucille standing. She pressed her palms flat to the back of Sam's chair and leaned on it.

"I listened to this. And, well, it sounded like it was up your alley." He put the CD into a drive.

"Normally I wouldn't have access to this. It's the cockpit voice recorder for United Britannia flight 2485. It was one of ours," said Jerry, pressing a button on the drive. The voice came through weakly.

"Mayday! Mayday! Repeat! This is United Britannia 2485—immediate instruction help! United Britanis 2485, I copy your message—May be experiencing some mechanical failure…" she could faintly hear the plane descending, before all noise was reduced to static. Finally, a low moaning sound came through before the recording cut off. Sam and Dean looked at each other, an unspoken conversation passing between their eyes. They glanced up at Lucille, who bit her lip and shrugged, false confusion clouding her features. She had a pretty good idea of what was happening, but didn't want to tell them yet. Jerry quickly explained the situation.

"Took off from here, crashed about two hundred miles south. Now, they're saying mechanical failure. Cabin depressurized somehow. Nobody knows why. Over a hundred people on board. Only seven got out alive. Pilot was one.

"His name is Chuck Lambert. He's a good friend of mine. Chuck is, uh...well, he's pretty broken up about it. Like it was his fault." He paused and looked down. Lucille spoke up.

"You don't think it was?" she asked, cocking her head to the side.

"No, I don't."

"Jerry, we're gonna need passenger manifests, um, a list of survivors," Sam said, glancing at Dean.

"All right," was all Jerry said.

"And, uh, any way we can take a look at the wreckage?" asked Dean.

Jerry frowned. "The other stuff is no problem. But the wreckage...fellas, the NTSB has it locked down in an evidence warehouse. No way I've got that kind of clearance." The corners of Dean's lips tilted down. He sighed.

"No problem."

* * *

Sam and Lucille leaned against the Impala in silence, waiting for Dean to exit a store called Copy Jack. The door opened and Lucille straightened up. A woman walked in as Dean exited. She heard a brief exchange of greetings before Dean turned back to them.

"You've been in there forever." Sam raised an eyebrow at his brother.

He held up two IDs. Lucille squinted and saw the words 'Homeland Security' on them.

"You can't rush perfection," he said, holding out an ID for Sam.

"Then why do you keep rushing me to do everything?" Lucille said in mock confusion. Sam snickered, reaching out to take the ID from his brother.

"Homeland Security?"

"That's pretty illegal, even for us." Lucille looked at them amusedly.

"You kill people for a living. Pretty sure _that's_ illegal," she said.

"Not people. _Monsters._ " Dean said. He turned to Sam. "It's something new. You know? People haven't seen it a thousand times."

Lucille slid into the backseat as Sam and Dean loaded into the front. She leaned over the back of the seat in front of her, between the brothers.

"All right, so, what do you got?" Dean asked.

"Well, there's definitely EVP on the cockpit voice recorder," Sam said, opening his computer.

"Yeah?"

"Listen." He played the tape, which he had edited to identify a scratchy voice.

" _No survivors!"_

"'No survivors'? What's that supposed to mean? There were seven survivors," Dean said, pointing out the obvious.

"Got me," Sam said, closing his computer and placing it on the floorboard.

"Well, I would assume that by 'No survivors' it means that in the future there will be no survivors from the flight. I.e, whatever that thing was will hitch a ride on the next flight that any of the survivors take and," she paused, then mimed a plane crashing and exploding with her hands. "Boom. Dead."

"Huh. Good idea," Sam said, frowning. "So what do we do?"

"I guess just keep an eye on each of the survivors. Next time we catch wind of any of them going on a plane, you two will jump on board and and stop that thing! 'Kay?"

"Hey!" Dean protested. "Why do _we_ have to go on the flight? Why can't you? You have experience flying, don't you, Feathers?" She frowned, trying to come up with a reasonable explanation for a fear of flying.

"I don't like airplanes. Too unstable. Wings are much easier, much quicker, and most of all, much safer."

"Can we argue later? Let's just go get some food and call it a day." Lucille leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms.

"Fine. But I am _not_ getting on one of those things," she said.

The conversation quickly died.

* * *

They soon located a small diner and stopped for food. It was only then that she realized how hungry she was. Cold air blasted around them as they stepped in, and Lucille pulled her jacket tighter around herself. She zipped up the jacket and pulled her arms out of her sleeves, wrapping them around her warm midsection underneath the jacket. She walked as close to the Winchesters as she could without tripping over their feet as they made their way to a booth.

Sam and Dean slid in on either side of table, leaving Lucille to decide which side to sit on. She quickly decided that Sam gave off more heat and sat next to him. If she was with her friends back home, she knew that she would have been sandwiched between all of them with several jackets layered on her- she was known for getting very cold very easily.

A pretty waitress approached the table with three menus in her hands. She handed one to each member of the table and smiled.

"What can I get for you to drink?" she asked cheerily.

"Beer," Dean said, smiling charmingly.

"Just water for me, thanks," Sam said, looking disapprovingly at his brother.

"And for you?" she asked Lucille. She peered at the menu quickly.

"Hot chocolate, please."

"Alrighty then! We'll have those right out." The waitress nodded and turned on her heel, walking away. Sam looked down at Lucille's hunched frame and chuckled.

"Cold?"

She looked up at him. "Shut up. I don't like being human. I can actually feel the temperature." Yep, that was going to be her new excuse for being cold. She wasn't used to temperature differences. She studied the menu, pulling her arms back into her sleeves to flip it over.

She looked back up as she felt a warm jacket being draped over her shoulders. Sam was only wearing his flannel over a black tee now.

"Thanks," she muttered.

"Mm hmm," he said, amused. Dean looked up from the menu to see their interaction. He didn't comment, smiling and shaking his head. Lucille glared at him, a blush rising to her cheeks. Sure, she may have had a crush on Sam when he was just a character, but who didn't? She had basically had a crush on every male character on the show. Besides, he was, like, eight years older than her. And she was a minor. That's technically paedophilia.

"Pedicabo ego vos. Non," she grumbled under her breath. Latin. _Fuck you. No._ Sam laughed beside her, seemingly understanding the phrase. She turned a questioning stare to him.

"You know Latin?"

"Some," he admitted. She narrowed her eyes.

"And you just _happen_ to know that specific phrase?" He shrugged sheepishly.

"What phrase? What did that mean?" Dean asked suspiciously. Sam and Lucille looked away innocently. The drinks were brought out shortly after and they placed their orders.

Lucille quickly licked the whipped cream off the top of the hot chocolate, wrapping her hands around the cup. The hot chocolate created a mustache over her top lip, which she wiped away with a napkin. The food came out soon after the drinks, seeing as they were one of the only people there. She smiled up at the waitress when it came.

"Gratias tibi," she said. She blinked, blushing at the Latin slipup. "Uh, sorry, I mean, uh. Thanks." The waitress laughed lightly and walked away. Dean kicked her leg under the table. She looked up.

"Nice recovery there," he said. She rolled her eyes, looking at the fruit salad in front of her. She picked up a fork and picked through it.

"I know several languages fluently, I'll have you know," she said. "Sometimes I slip between them. It was one little phrase. So you can σκάσε." Greek. _Shut up._ The music playing above quickly caught her attention. She began humming along. Dean looked at her incredulously.

"Seriously? You like this… this _pop crap_? Since when do angels even like music?" She hesitated, thinking.

"Hey, _Since U Been Gone_ is a good song. Don't diss it. Also, most angels don't. My brother… Gabriel, he was fun. Once he started a band in Heaven. I was in it, along with Balthazar and Lucifer. That was before Lucifer fell. Believe it or not, he was pretty fun before he fell. God got mad, we had to disband," she said. She based the story off of a fanfiction she had read a while back.

"I'm sorry, did you just say that _Lucifer_ , AKA the _devil_ , AKA _Satan_ , was fun?" She nodded in response to Dean's incredulity, grinning.

"Don't worry, he's locked up now!" She frowned slightly, realizing that she was going to have to make sure he _stayed_ locked up.

"I'm done," she said, pushing the bowl away. Dean slapped the table and began to stand.

"Alright, let's go," he said. Lucille's brows furrowed- she had the feeling that they were forgetting something. Her eyes widened and she pointed at him, dragging her finger down through air.

"Sit down, Squirrel. We have to pay."

"Huh. Knew we were forgetting something."

* * *

They drove to a motel afterwards. Well, really Dean just dropped Sam and Lucille off at the front door of one with their stuff before driving off to go to some bar. Sam quickly checked them in, tossing the spare key to Lucille as he exited.

Lucille opened the door to room 15 and held it open for Sam, her duffel bag hanging from the crook of her elbow. She stepped in and closed the door behind her. Sam quickly claimed the bed farthest from the door before stepping into the bathroom to shower. Lucille quickly tossed her bag on the floor and collapsed on the other bed- Dean wasn't here at the moment, so why should she have to sleep on the couch? She kicked her converse across the room blindly.

She sat up and shrugged off Sam's jacket, which she still had wrapped around her, and carefully folded it, reaching across and placing it on the other bed. She pulled her arms out of her own pastel yellow jacket and tossed it in the general vicinity of her duffel bag, along with her white shirt with large black Japanese characters scribbled across it. Rolling onto her stomach, she hung over the edge of the bed and unzipped her bag. She quickly found a plain white tank top, a heavy black hoodie, and pink sweatpants. She pulled the top and hoodie on before slipping out of her jeans, keeping her socks on. The sweatpants fit snugly, and she slipped under the blankets.

Sam came out shortly after, dressed in sweatpants and a tee. His hair clung to his forehead, still damp.

"Turn off the lights," Lucille grumbled, her eyes shut tight. She heard Sam laugh before the light illuminating the inside of her eyelids faded.

"You know, I don't think Dean will very happy with not having a bed when he gets back," he said. She cracked her eyes open and turned her head, looking at his faint form.

"Yeah? Well I haven't slept in an actual bed for quite a while, so he can το πιπιλίζουν," she mumbled. Greek. _Suck it._ She shut her eyes once more and curled into a ball, pulling the sheets tight around her. She found it a little warmer in here than in the diner, but not by much. At least there was a space heater in the corner.

* * *

Lucille was awoken early the next morning due to the sound of Dean attempting to open the door quietly- key word being 'attempting'. Well, he was pretty quiet, but Lucille tended to sleep lightly. She groaned and sat up, squinting at the clock beside the bed. _3:08_. Seriously?

"You were out late," she whispered matter-of-factly. She took pleasure in the way he jumped, having not realized that she was awake. She looked down at his rumpled clothing and mock gagged as he smirked.

"You're disgusting," she said quietly, frowning disapprovingly. He shrugged, probably still a bit drunk.

"How'd you get in anyways?" she asked him. He held up a small pouch that she knew held a lockpicking kit.

"Alright, get out of my bed," he whispered, jerking his head to the side. She glared at him in the dim light, opening her mouth to protest.

"Veniam in me? Excuse me? If you didn't notice, I was here first, while you were out at some trash dive bar." They spoke in hushed tones, trying not to wake Sam from a rare night of sleep. He scowled like a petulant child.

"Fine. Move over." He walked up to the side of the bed and she stared at him incredulously.

"Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously. I want to sleep and you refuse to get out of the bed. So _scoot_." She groaned, too tired to argue. She rolled to the side and almost fell off the edge of the bed before stopping. She felt the bed dip down on her right side and closed her eyes. There wasn't much room in the bed, but she stayed as far away as possible, even though if given the chance to cuddle with Dean Winchester in the other world she would already be clinging to him. However, she was still close enough to feel the warmth he gave off.

Later, while she was perfectly asleep, she shifted, pressing herself to his side and revelling in his warmth.

* * *

The next morning she woke up to an unexpected chill. Sam and Dean were already up, leaning over the former's computer. They were dressed in black suits. Right, Homeland Security.

Lucille sat up and stretched, yawning. Dean looked up from the computer and raised an eyebrow.

"Sleeping Beauty finally woke up! Get ready, we're checking out the wreckage," His voice was filled with so much sarcasm during the first sentence she could almost see it spread through the air around him. She looked at the clock and flushed with color. It was just past ten o'clock.

"Shut up. You're the one who woke me up at three in the morning," she said, not noticing how he seemed to grow uncomfortable at the mention of that. She leaned over the edge of the bed and pulled out a fresh set of clothes to wear- black tank top, dark jeans, white socks. She hid a clean bra in the middle of the bundle when the brothers weren't looking before walking to the bathroom and changing, as well as brushing her hair and pulling it into twin Dutch braids.

She shoved the nightwear back into her bag before pulling on a black and white flannel over the tank top. She wore a thick black jacket open over the other two layers. She found a black beanie and pushed it over her hair, slipping white fingerless gloves over her hands. She flexed her fingers, looking at her nails. They were long, with remnants of chipped red nail polish clinging to them.

"Let's go," she said, slipping her feet into black combat boots. She pulled the top blanket off the bed and wrapped it over her shoulders, mimicking a cape. She looked up to find the Winchesters staring at her. "What? Just in case! I get cold easily!"

They both rolled their eyes and headed out to the car. She trailed behind them, clutching the blanket.

She shivered as cold air blasted through the car. It grew comfortably warm as the drove, and she let the blanket drop from her shoulders. Her head tipped back and she closed her eyes, letting the warmth spread through her.

They quickly arrived at a storage warehouse where the wreckage was located. Sam and Dean left the car and walked up to the building, leaving Lucille behind. She pulled out her phone after making sure they were gone and played the episode that they were currently in. She skipped directly to the part about the wreckage- where they were currently- and paused it. She realized that the brothers would be close to getting caught if she didn't intervene. Stuffing her own phone back into the duffel, she scribbled a quick note on the back of a receipt she found and pulled one of the extra phones out of the glove box. She dove out of the car, seeing a truck with the words "Homeland Security" pull up. At the last second she reached back in and snagged her sketchbook on an impulse.

She ran up to the two men in suits who were climbing out of the vehicle. They looked down at her in surprise.

"Hey, um, kid, what do you need?" the taller one asked in confusion. Her mouth went dry.

"Uh… I'm- I'm looking for my dad. He dropped me off down the road and said he'd be right back, but it's been a long time. Have you seen him? This is what he looks like." She flipped through the pages in her sketchbook and came to one of Castiel. It was pretty realistic, and just of his face.

"Nope, sorry," the shorter, gruffer-looking one said, turning to walk away. She pulled the best puppy dog look she could and pleaded with them.

"Please! I really need to find him!" They sighed.

"Alright, sweetheart, what's your name?" The taller one asked. She thought for a moment.

"Claire… Claire Mills." She combined both Claire Novak and Jody Mills' names to create a name of her own.

"Alright, Claire. We'll help you find your father. What's his name?" She came up with the most generic name she could and combined it with the last name.

"Billy Mills." Out of the corner of her eye she saw Sam and Dean leave the building. She pulled the phone out of her pocket and pretended she received a message.

"Oh! Never mind! He just got here! Thank you!" she called over her shoulder as she ran towards the Impala across the street. Sam and Dean were already inside. She yanked open the back door and tossed the phone in the front seat.

"Drive, now!" Dean looked back at her for just a second before pulling out of the near empty parking lot and taking off down the road. They drove back to the motel in silence. She hopped out of the Impala and unlocked the door, leaving it open for the Winchesters to follow. She sat on the bed as they walked in, head in her hands.

"You're welcome," she said importantly, looking up.

"For what, exactly?" Sam asked, amused. He shrugged off the suit jacket and draped it over the back of a chair. Dean did the same.

"For saving your asses from the _real_ Homeland Security. _Manifesto_ ," she said. It was Latin. _Obviously._

" _Language_ ," Dean warned her. She rolled her eyes.

"For the last time, I'm an ang- you know what? _Fine_ ," she said, giving in. "Anyways, what did you find?"

"This. We're not sure what it is yet. We scraped whatever it is off the handle of the emergency door," said Sam, holding up a small clear plastic bag filled with some kind of dust or small particles. She held her hand out as he tossed it to her. She held the bag up to her eye and looked closely. It just looked like yellowish dust.

Opening the bag, she brought it to her nose. She grimaced and sealed it back up.

"Sulfur," she said. "Smells like rotten eggs."

"Hmm. You know, there's not too many things that leave behind a sulfuric residue," Dean said, thinking. Lucille sat back, wanting to see their thought process.

"Demonic possession?"

"It would explain how a mortal man would have the strength to open up an emergency hatch."

"If the guy was possessed, it's possible."

"This goes way beyond floating over a bed or barfing pea soup. I mean it's one thing to possess a person, but to use them to take down an entire airplane?"

"You ever heard of something like this before?"

"Never."

She couldn't help it- she laughed.

"Seriously? This is probably a Japanese demon. See, in some according to Japanese beliefs, certain demons are behind certain disasters, both natural and man-made. One causes earthquakes, another causes disease. This one, apparently, causes plane crashes. Anyways, I'm fairly certain that they do this for the fun of it. Much different from our demons. Christian demons don't kill people because they feel like it. They have a schedule and they stick to it. So," she paused, watching their expressions with amusement. "How do we get rid of it, you may ask? Simple. We exorcise it. I mean, we _could_ kill it, but…" The angel blade slipped out of her sleeve and she waved it for emphasis. "That would also mean killing the host."

"And that's bad." Sam stated. Lucille looked up and laughed.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious. Now, it seems that the demon possessed someone, then took the plane down about forty minutes into the flight by opening the emergency door. There were seven survivors- you have to catch the next flight with one of them. I would contact Jerry and see if he can track their flights somehow."

Soon they were in full research mode, with papers strewn across the table and images taped to the wall. Lucille slowly circled the table like a vulture, trying to remember what had happened in the rest of the episode. Six articles were lined up side by side, each of a different flight. A smile slowly spread across her face as she looked at them. She looked up as Dean's phone rang, reaching across the table and tossing it to Dean, who was sitting on one of the beds.

"Hello?" he said, answering it.

"Oh, hey, Jerry." He paused, listening.

"Wha—Jerry, I'm sorry. What happened?"

"Where'd this happen?"

"I'll try to ignore the irony in that." Lucille cracked a smile. She knew something had happened, and it was in Nazareth, which was also the name of the place that Jesus was born. She remembered that specific detail because it had been late at night and she woke her brother up laughing at it apparently. She just wasn't sure what exactly it was that had happened.

"Nothing." He shook his head in amusement. "Jerry, hang in there, all right? We'll catch up with you soon." He was about to hang up.

"Wait!" Lucille called out, rushing across the room. She pulled the phone out of Dean's hand and put it to her ear.

"Jerry? You still there?"

"Who is this?"

"Lucille, remember? We met at the airplane hangar? Anyways, what it is that you were just telling Dean?"

"My pilot friend, Chuck Lambert, is dead. A plane crash." She made a small noise of acknowledgement. She paced the room with one arm behind her back as they spoke.

"Now, how long were they in the air before the plane crashed?" He paused, most likely looking for the right file.

"40 minutes. Why do you ask?" She smiled.

"We've got a hunch on what is doing this. Bye, thanks!" she said, hanging up.

"Another crash?" Sam asked, looking between them.

"Yeah. Let's go," said Dean, moving a small stack of papers to the side.

"Where?"

"Nazareth," he said. Lucille held her hand up.

"Why, exactly, are we going there?" Dean looked at her, confused.

"To make sure that it's our kind of thing," he said, as if it were obvious. She dragged her hand down her face and sighed.

"Dean, Dean, Dean… I just did that. It went down 40 minutes into the flight. You know what else did that? Six other plane crashes in the last decade. And get this- some of the reports said that there was sulfur found in the wreckage," she said, using Sam's 'So get this' catchphrase.

"Okay, so it turns out we don't have to go after all," Dean said to his younger brother.

"40 minutes… It's biblical numerology. You know, Noah's ark, it rained for forty days. The number means death," he said, pondering it.

" _Actually_ ," said Lucille, correcting him, "the number 40 generally symbolizes a period of testing, trial or probation between two distant epochs. In biblical numerology, death is actually 23." She only knew that because of the first time she had seen this episode- she had researched it to fact check the show, finding it to be false. The only reason she could remember it was because she had to look up several definitions, and she usually remembered why a new word was added to her mental vocabulary.

"Whatever," said Dean. She sighed at his 'I don't give a damn' tone.

"Now what? How are we supposed to know if they're going on a flight anytime soon? We can't just hack into United Britannia," Sam said. Lucille frowned, trying to remember what they had done the first time around.

"Let me see that," she said, pointing to the list of survivors. Sam handed it to her, glancing at it as it passed between them. Beside each name there was an address and a phone number listed- she tapped the first number.

"Call. Pretend we're United Britannia, ask about customer service. Simple. Except for…" she trailed her finger down the list. "Amanda Walker. She works on the planes. Uh… I'll deal with her."

"And how exactly are you going to do that?" asked Sam coolly, his head tilted to the side. The corners of her lips tilted down in a frown.

"I, uh… I'll figure it out. _You_ just handle the calls." She flung the paper into the air dramatically, watching out of the corner of her eye as it floated to the ground. Kneeling with her back to the brothers, made sure they couldn't see what she was doing before unzipping her bag. She found a small white mini-backpack and stuffed her phone and a wad of cash inside, which she had also found in the duffel. Every single bill, she discovered, had been made before the year 2005. She also stuck her sketchbook and a pencil into the bag.

Lucille walked to the door jauntily as if the room was a runway after putting the spare key in the backpack as well. She paused with her hand on the doorknob and turned back to the Winchesters, bowing. She pulled the beanie off of her head and flourished it as if it were a top hat to add to the affect.

"Toodle-oo, my good men. I'll be back before the sun sets!" she exclaimed in the most posh British accent she could muster. She caught two expressions out of the corner of her eye as she left- one of perplexity, the other of amusement.

"Ugh," she groaned as she began walking towards who-knows-where. A set destination was virtually nonexistent. Really, all of the "I'll figure it out" was just for show. She knew it said it somewhere in the episode- she just needed somewhere private she could go without anyone from this time period seeing.

"I need _food_ ," she said to herself, realizing she hadn't eaten since dinner the day before and it was nearly noon. Her feet automatically took her to the nearest restaurant.

She looked around as she entered. It was a McDonald's- one of the best fast food places, in her opinion.

She stood in line behind a large man with a green shirt. She tapped her foot impatiently, ordering quickly when it was her turn. She stepped to the side and filled a large cup with coke, sipping it quietly as she waited for her order to be called. She eagerly took the bag and sidestepped a woman wearing a ridiculously long scarf, making her way out the door.

Lucille spent another half-hour absentmindedly wandering around the city and eating fries before coming to a stop at a playground. She quickly occupied a vacant bench and set her stuff beside her, observing the few young children hanging on brightly colored bars. Most of them were crowded over by the slide, pushing each other down.

Eating quickly, she stood up and brushed the dirt and crumbs that had accumulated on her outfit off. She placed her backpack to the side of the bench and crumpled the trash from lunch, throwing it into a nearby trash can as if it were a basketball. She crossed over the plastic barrier separating the grass and the mulch and approached the taller of two sets of monkey bars, flexing her fingers. She climbed up the short laddar and reached up, grabbing the second closest bar.

Pulling herself over it, she lightly placed her feet on top of it. She stepped forward over three more before turning on her heel and lowering herself down so that her waist was bent over the bar and her arms were falling straight down. Her legs rested flat on top of the bars. Blood slowly rushed to her head, but she ignored it. The beanie fell off of her head. Her arms raised back up and gripped the bar, lifting her legs straight into the air. Her entire body was vertical for a few seconds before her arms grew weak and she had to lower herself to the ground. She rested on the mulch below the bars for a moment, her head tilted up towards the sun.

Sighing lightly, she stood up and prepared to go back to the motel. She dusted the mulch off of her beanie before shoving it back over her hair. She planned to stop in a store or something with a bathroom so she could check her phone without the all-seeing eyes of the public on her. She picked up her bag and began walking back the way she came- she had written each street she turned on in order in the back page of her sketchbook, so now she just had to reverse the list.

She was almost at the motel when she turned into a small shopping outlet. A large sign said "Hilltop Plaza" with several different stores listed under it. She walked across the parking lot and entered the Walmart, making her way directly to the bathroom. She locked herself in the stall on the end and pulled out her phone. She didn't have her earbuds with her so she couldn't watch the episode, so instead she looked up the transcript for the episode she was currently in. She quickly scrolled down the page and found the conversation about Amanda Walker.

"Indianapolis, eight pm…" She glanced up at the clock at the top of the screen. It was just past one. "And it takes five hours…" She groaned, shoving her phone back in her bag and running out of the store.

She followed the directions she had scribbled down back to the motel and burst through the door in less than ten minutes. Sam and Dean looked up sharply before relaxing, seeing it was Lucille.

"We have seven hours to get to Indianapolis. Let's go." They stood and automatically gathered their stuff before questioning why. Lucille tossed her smaller bag into the duffel and zipped it up.

"You figure out Amanda's flight?" Sam asked as they walked out the door.

"Yeah. Her sister Karen said she's on one that leaves from Indianapolis at eight pm- tonight." She opened the back door of the Impala and swung in. Sam checked them out of the motel. "Are any of the other survivors taking any flights anytime soon?"

"Nope, only the one," Dean responded as he started the car. Soon they were on the road.

* * *

They arrived at the airport only a half hour before boarding after getting lost several times. They ran to the departure board and ran their eyes over it, searching for the correct flight.

"Right there." Sam pointed to the board. "They're boarding in thirty minutes."

"Okay," Dean said, turning. "We still have some cards to play. We need a phone." He led the younger two of the trio to a courtesy phone and picked it up. Lucille leaned closer to hear.

"Airport Services," a light, feminine voice said.

"Hi. Gate thirteen," Dean said shortly. Lucille tapped her foot impatiently.

"Who are you calling, sir?" the voice asked. Lucille laughed mentally- the first thing that had come to mind was " _Did you just assume my gender?"_

"I'm trying to contact an Amanda Walker. She's a flight attendant on flight, um…" He hesitated, unsure. Lucille lightly laughed and whispered the number. "Flight 4-2-4."

A clicking sound came through the receiver, and a few moments later a new voice came through.

"This is Amanda Walker."

"Miss Walker. Hi, this is Dr. James Hetfield from St. Francis Memorial Hospital. We have a Karen Walker here," he said. Lucille's eyes widened as she remembered more of the episode. That was never going to work.

"Karen?" she asked. Lucille groaned quietly.

"Nothing serious, just a minor car accident, but she was injured, so-" he was cut off by Amanda.

"Wha- wait, that's impossible. I just got off the phone with her." Lucille could hear the confusion written in her voice. Dean paused.

"You _what_?" he said incredulously.

"Five minutes ago. She's at her house, cramming for a final. Who is this?" Her voice grew more accusing with every word. Dean's expression was priceless.

"Uh, well… there must be some mistake." His words were rushed and panicked.

"And how would you even know I was here?" she asked, her tone almost angry. Sam edged around Dean and leant closer, trying to hear the conversation.

Realization and annoyance colored her voice. "Is this one of Vince's friends?" Dean went with her accusation and played off of it.

"Guilty as charged," he said, lifting one shoulder and grinning. He chuckled. Sam leaned against the support pillar that the phone was connected to and stared at his brother.

"Wow." Lucille grimaced, knowing how bad boys could get about their exes- she did have an older brother, after all. "This is _unbelievable."_ Dean looked between Sam and Lucille, trying to figure out what to say next.

"He's really sorry," he tried.

"Well, you tell him to mind his own business and stay out of my life, okay?" She sounded really pissed off- probably not a good sign. Dean's eyes widened.

"Yes, but… he really needs to see you tonight, so-" He was cut off once more.

"No. I'm sorry. It's too late." Lucille snickered at the dramatic cliche line.

"Don't be like that! Come on. The guy's a mess. Really! It's pathetic." Lucille mimed crying but was cut of by a half-hearted glare from Dean. Amanda paused.

"Really?" The anger dissipated into the air almost instantly.

"Oh, _yeah_ ," Dean said, tilting his head to the side. Amanda's voice seemed conflicted when she spoke again.

"Look, I've got to go. Um… tell him to call me when I land." She hung up.

"No, no. Wait, Amanda. Amanda!" Dean said into the phone. He groaned and slammed the phone back onto its base, pressing his head against the wall.

"Damn it! So close," he said, pacing the area around the phone.

"Alright, it's time for plan B. We're getting on that plane." So Jared _wasn't_ just an overdramatic actor in season one. That was actually how Sam spoke, Lucille noted. Dean's eyes widened.

"Whoa, whoa, now just hold on a second," he said, panicked.

"Dean, that plane is leaving with over a hundred passengers on board, and if Lucille is right, that plane is gonna crash," he said, reasoning with Dean. His voice lowered in volume with every word. Lucille shrunk back and attempted to camoflauge herself into the background.

"I know!"

" _Okay_. So, we're getting on the plane, we need to find that demon and exorcise it. I'll get the tickets. You and Lucille get whatever you can out of the trunk- whatever that will make it through security. Meet me back here in five minutes." Lucille sighed- his voice left no room for discussion. She knew that there was no way she wasn't going to end up on the plane.

Dean looked at Sam anxiously. The younger of the two began to turn, but stopped when he saw his brother's face.

"Are you okay?" he asked, confusion in his voice. Right, she had forgotten that Dean was scared of airplanes as well. Dean licked his lips.

"No, not really."

"What? What's wrong?" The way he said it would have made Lucille laugh, if she wasn't almost paralyzed with dread.

"Well, I kind of have this problem with, uh…" he trailed off, making wide whooshing hand gestures.

"Flying?" asked Sam, completing the sentence. Lucille nodded, even though it wasn't directed towards her.

"It's never really been an issue until now!" exclaimed Dean, throwing his hands out.

Sam looked confused. "You're joking, right?"

"Do I look like I'm joking? Why do you think I drive everywhere, Sam?" Everything about him screamed 'humiliated'.

"All right. Uh, we'll go," Sam said, gesturing between him and Lucille. Her eyes widened.

"What?" Dean and Lucille said at the same time.

"I'm sorry, no." Lucille took a deep breath, ready to face her fear. "Either all of us are going, or none. I'm not seeing a third option here."

"Come on, Feathers, really?" Dean said miserably.

"Dean, trust me. It'll be fine. We'll stop the demon before we crash." She wasn't quite sure if she was trying to convince Dean or herself- maybe both.

* * *

They sat in a row of three near the back of the plane. Dean was in the aisle seat, Lucille in the window seat, and Sam between them. Dean anxiously read over the safety card for the third time, while Lucille's eyes were shut tightly, her breathing shallow. Tears of fear began to collect in her eyes. Her hands clenched the armrests on either side of the seat. She ignored the voice coming on over the intercom.

Sam observed the two nervous fliers on his sides and smiled gently.

"Just try to relax," he whispered. Lucille hummed in agreement.

"Just try to shut up," Dean snapped back. The plane began speeding up, shaking them gently. Dean leaned back and closed his eyes, mirroring Lucille's pose. Eight minutes later they were flying steadily upwards.

"You're humming Metallica?" Lucille heard Sam ask his brother confusedly. Her eyes were still closed, but her hands had relaxed and were fidgeting in her lap.

"Calms me down," Dean replied, then went back to humming. Sam scoffed.

"Look, man, I get you're nervous, alright? But you gotta stay focused."

"Okay," Dean replied, exhaling loudly. Sam turned to his other side.

"Lucille? You okay?" She cracked her eyes open and sighed.

"Yeah. This… actually isn't that bad. I think I'm okay now. Any idea who it is? I did some checking the other day on other reports and survivors- I think it goes for nervous fliers. Not us, obviously, because apparently after they're possessed they are super confident or something," she said, trying to remember who it was.

"No idea. I mean, we got-" Sam glanced at his watch. "thirty-two minutes and counting to track this thing down, or whoever it's possessing, anyway, and perform a full-on exorcism."

"Yeah, on a crowded plane. That's gonna be easy," Dean said sarcastically.

"Well, this is Amanda's first flight after the crash. If I were her, I'd be pretty messed up," Lucille said. It was an exact quote from the show. She wasn't sure how, but she happened to remember that line. But wait- wasn't that their first guess? And that was almost never correct.

"Mm-hm," Dean said in agreement. He turned to a passing flight attendant.

"Excuse me. Are you Amanda?" he asked. The flight attendant turned a smiled, leaning down slightly.

"No, I'm not." Dean smiled nervously.

"Oh, my mistake." the flight attendant walked away as Dean twisted in his seat to look towards the back of the plane. He turned back, seeing Amanda.

"All right, well, that's got to be Amanda back there, so I'll go talk to her, and, uh, I'll get a read on her mental state."

"What if she's already possessed?" Sam asked his brother.

"It's not her," Lucille said suddenly. The brothers turned to look at her in surprise.

"How do you know?" Sam questioned her. She probably shouldn't have said anything, on second thought.

"Uh… her sister, Karen. She said that she wasn't affected too badly by it. And if the people I called were correct, the possessed weren't, well, _possessed_ until they got to the airport. It has to be someone else on the plane," she said, leaning forward. She knew who it was- she just didn't know how to explain how she knew it.

"Ugh. Okay. You know what? Try the copilot. I saw him before the flight and he looked really, and I mean _really_ nervous, but when we got on he seemed… _not_ nervous. It's him. I know it."

"Alright, well, you haven't been wrong yet. So, it's the copilot. Now what? We can't just exorcise him in the middle of the plane!" Sam exclaimed. She tilted her head in confusion.

"Wasn't that your original plan though?"

"Whatever."

"Anyways. We need to go talk to Amanda. She can help. Trust me." She stood up and braced herself against the seat. She followed Sam and Dean into the back of the plane, where Amanda was. The stewardess looked up from refilling the drinks cart as Lucille closed the curtain behind her.

"Oh, hi. Flight's not too bumpy for you, I hope!" She smiled brightly.

"Actually, that's kind of what we need to talk to you about," said Dean. Her smile faltered slightly.

"Um, okay. What can I do for you?"

"Alright, this is gonna sound nuts, but we just don't have time for the whole 'the truth is out there' speech right now," Dean said, cutting straight to the point.

Lucille cut in gently. "We know you were on flight 2485. And we also know that the reason it crashed was _not_ mechanical failure, nor the fault of the pilot."

Amanda frowned, her smile disappearing completely.

"Who are you guys?"

"Listen, Miss Walker. Amanda. You can choose whether to believe this or not, but this plane is going to go down too if _we_ don't do something. We need your help. Please." Lucille did her best to convince her to help them. Amanda took a step back, looking at them as if they were deranged.

"I'm sorry, I- I'm very busy. I have to go back-" She tried to brush past Dean, who stopped her.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait a second. I'm not gonna hurt you, okay? But listen to me, uh...The pilot in 2485, Chuck Lambert. He's dead." Her expression was one of shock- apparently this was news to her.

"Wait. What? What, Chuck is dead?" Lucille nodded gravely.

"He died in a plane crash. Now, that's two plane crashes in two weeks. That doesn't strike you as strange?" Dean asked, his eyes narrowed.

"I-" She seemed to be at a loss for words.

"Look, there was something wrong with 2485. Now maybe you sensed it, maybe you didn't. But there's something wrong with this flight, too," said Sam.

"Amanda, you have to believe us," Dean said hopefully. She paused, looking down.

"On… on 2485, there was this man. He… had these eyes."

"There! That's it." Lucille pointed at Amanda smugly. "Black eyes, right?" She nodded.

"Well, I don't understand, what are you asking me to do?"

"Okay. The copilot, we need you to bring him back here," Dean said, gesturing behind him.

Amanda looked confused. "Why? What does he have to do with anything?" Lucille sighed and rubbed her forehead.

"Don't have time to explain. We just need to talk to him. Okay?" Dean asked. His voice was soft, yet exasperated at the same time.

"How am I supposed to go in the cockpit and get the copilot-"

"Do whatever it takes," Sam said, shaking his head. "Tell him there's something broken back here, whatever will get him out of that cockpit."

"Do you know that I could lose my job if-"

" _Do you know that I could lose my job?"_ Lucille said mockingly. "Everyone on this plane is about to lose something worth more than a damn _job_ if you don't get the _fucking_ copilot." Amanda hesitated, taken aback.

"Okay." She slipped out of the curtain and Lucille leaned against the emergency door, sighing.

"Seriously? Language!" Dean exclaimed to her. She raised an eyebrow and pointed to herself.

"Angel. Remember? Now, I happen to know an exorcism much better than whatever you're planning. It's simple- one step, not very long. You just have to make sure the demon doesn't leave before I finish reciting it. Just cover his mouth and don't let go until I say so, okay?" They nodded. She stepped back as the copilot stepped inside.

"Yeah, what's the problem?" he said just before Dean punched him in the face, effectively knocking him down. He pinned the copilot to the floor and put duct tape over his mouth.

"Do I even want to know why you have that?" Lucille laughed. She turned to Amanda, who was watching with shock.

"Wait. What are you doing? You said you were just gonna talk to him!" Lucille placed a hand on her shoulder and turned her away.

We are gonna talk to him," Dean said, splashing holy water, which he had procured from his pocket, onto the demon. Amanda looked back over her shoulder at the sizzling noise.

"Oh, my God. What's wrong with him?" Lucille pulled her away and shoved her outside the curtain.

"Stay here. Don't let anyone inside. Got it?" She didn't wait for a response before turning back inside.

"Hurry up, Feathers. I don't know how much longer I can hold him."

"Alright, alright." She held up her hands in defence and took a deep breath.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii." The demon struggled against Sam and Dean, its eyes turning black. It's back arched in reaction to the incantation.

"Omnis congregatio et secta diabolica, ergo, draco maledicte ecclesiam tuam." She stumbled as the plane rocked, but continued speaking steadily.

"Secura tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos. Now!" she shouted. Sam reached over and ripped the duct tape off in one fluid movement. The copilot's mouth opened in a silent scream as black smoke poured from its mouth. The smoke circled around the small space twice before going down through the bottom of the plane. The copilot's body fell limp.

Amanda peered inside before rushing in.

"Oh my- Oh my God! What did you _do_? Is he dead?" Her words were rushed and clumped together.

"Don't use my Father's name in vain," Lucille said as an automatic reaction to 'Oh my God'. It was something she said to the boys to keep up her angel facade. She realized what she said as Amanda looked up sharply.

"I, uh- never mind. Sorry," she said quickly. "And no, he's not _dead_. Just unconscious."

* * *

Lucille watched alongside Sam and Dean as Amanda was being questioned by an FBI agent. The passengers had all disembarked to an area teeming with uniformed agents. Lucille recognized paramedics, FBI, and FAA. They watch as she answers another question and the fed turned away.

"Thank you," she mouthed to the trio. All three nodded.

"Let's get out of here," Dean said. Lucille followed the two brothers to the exit.

They found Jerry outside leaning on a silver car next to the Impala. As it turned out, the flight had been scheduled for Kittanning, Pennsylvania.

"Nobody knows what you guys did, but I do. A lot of people could have been killed," he said as they approached. He shook each of their hands in turn.

"Your dad's gonna be real proud," he said to the Winchesters.

Sam smiled awkwardly. "We'll see you around, Jerry." Lucille and Sam both loaded into the Impala, but Dean paused with the door open.

"You know, Jerry." His tone was inquisitive.

"Yeah?"

"I meant to ask you, how did you get my cell phone number, anyway? I've only had it for like six months."

Dean closed the door so that the other two couldn't hear the rest of the conversation. She said Jerry leave a few minutes later and Dean slid into the car. He quickly explained what Jerry had said- apparently, John's voicemail gave Dean's phone number.

"This doesn't make any sense, man. I've called Dad's number like fifty times. It's been out of service," said Sam, confused. Dean dialed his father's number. As the voice message began, he turned it to speaker so that Lucille and Sam could hear it.

" _This is John Winchester. I can't be reached. If this is an emergency, call my son, Dean. 785-555-0179. He can help."_

Sam scoffed and turned away angrily. Lucille coughed and spoke up.

"So… you remember that secret bunker for the Men of Letters I was telling you about?"

Dean turned in his seat, unamused at the topic. "Yeah? What about it?"

"It's in Lebanon, Kansas. Can we go now?" Dean's eyes widened in surprise.

"That's, like, sixteen hours away!" Lucille scoffed in irritation.

"So? We don't have a case right now, and when we _do_ get one, the research there will be helpful."

He turned back to the front.

"Fine."

* * *

It took almost 18 hours of straight driving with the only breaks being for food and bathroom, plus Sam and Dean switching seats several times so they could take turns sleeping. Lucille managed to stay awake the entire time, drawing various pictures of Sam, Dean, and Castiel, as well as one of Gabriel. He was her favorite character.

After that, it took another half-hour to find the old dilapidated concrete bricks that made up the outside of the upper portion of the bunker. Lucille stepped out of the Impala and looked at it in awe. It didn't look like much, but the secrets it held were probably worth more to hunters than gold. She pulled the small box that held the key out of her jacket pocket.

The boys followed her down the short set of stairs that led to the door. She turned on her heel and looked at them with a small grin.

"Are you ready to discover the secrets of the Men of Letters?"

* * *

 **(Don't worry, I hate myself too)**


	7. Burni- Sorry, I Meant Bloody Mary

**Chapter 7: Burni- Sorry, I Meant** _ **Bloody**_ **Mary**

 **Don't blame me if I don't get the layout of the bunker correct, blame my lack of being able to read floor plans.**

 **I'm not going to be updating as frequently cause I have another fanfic to work on, but I won't stop altogether.**

"Are you ready to discover the secrets of the Men of Letters?"

Lucille bounced on the balls of her feet excitedly, facing the Winchesters. An eager grin split across her face as she looked down on the small box engraved with the Aquarian Star. The end of the box flipped open like a lighter, then the top face rotated on a corner pivot point. She slid the small piece of material off of the top of the key, tucking it under the box. A groove in the box around the middle of the key allowed her to pick it up with ease. She held up the weighty metal key reverently.

"Alright, hurry it up, would you, Feathers?" Dean said impatiently. She glared at him.

"Fine," she said, her smile dropping dejectedly. She turned on her heel and entered the key into the lock on the door. She turned it quickly and creaked open the heavy door.

They entered the bunker, Sam and Dean shining the flashlights that they had brought along over the room. The light passed over a railing in front of them, indicating the edge of a balcony. They stepped forward and peered curiously over the rail, looking in amazement as the flashlights revealed 1950's style communications equipment. Lucille headed directly down the stairs to the main floor, her eyes adjusting well in the dark.

"Son of a bitch," she and Dean said at the same time. She was so amazed by the bunker that she hardly even noticed the quiet "Language!"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," she said airly, not bothering to correct him. Sam ran his flashlight over the equipment once more.

"Look at this. Ham radio, telegraph, switchboard. This was their nerve center," he said astoundedly.

"Yep, geographic center of the contiguous United States," Lucille said, proud of herself for remembering that specific piece of imformation.

Dean shone his flashlight on a table containing a chess board, ashtray, glass and a dirty coffee cup. "Wow. Halfway through their coffee and a game of chess- looks like whoever was manning the hub left quick."

Lucille nodded, hoping they could see in the dim light.

"Yep. A demon named Abaddon busted in and murdered basically everyone. Dean? Switch box, on the wall; behind you. Open it, lift both switches. Thanks," replied Lucille absentmindedly. A generator whirred to life as he flipped the switch on the left, illuminating the main room. Lucille groaned as the light his her eyes, having quickly adjusted to the dark. Sam joined her on the main floor as Dean pulled the second lever.

"Wow," he breathed, looking at something behind her. She turned quickly and froze, seeing the large library. Her face lit up and she squealed, rushing in. Sam and Dean watched her in amusement as she ran her fingers over the long rows of books. She froze almost instantly, turning back and pursing her lips after remembering that she was in the company of others. A heavy blush spread across her cheeks, tinting her tan face pink. Dean shook his head and laughed lightly, making his way down the stairs.

"Nerd," he coughed into his sleeve. She glared at him.

"I heard that."

"Whatever. You know, I've noticed that you don't act very much like an angel," said Dean thoughtfully. She scoffed.

"Like you would know what an angel acts like," she retorted. "But, yes, I suppose I'm one of the less douchey angels. Most of them are complete a-holes. Take Mikey and Raph, for example. They're no fun. So _strict_. But Gabe? Luci? Hell, even B! They're so loose and _free_. That is, until the former two skipped out on Heaven." She paused at their confused looks. Realization dawned on her. "Right. Uh, I have nicknames for all of… my brothers. Mikey is Michael, Gabe is Gabriel, obviously, Luci is Lucifer, and Raph is Raphael. Oh, and B is Balthazar."

Dean raised an eyebrow.

"Okay then," he said, looking at her as if she was crazy. He walked to the entrance of the room she was in. It was a large, attractively furnished room with bookshelves, polished wooden floors and large wooden tables. He turned to his brother.

"Sammy, I think we found the Bat Cave." Lucille rolled her eyes.

" _And_ ," she dragged the word out, "you ruined it.

"Anyways, I'm _tired_. Hows about we all go to sleep, and _then_ explore. M'kay?" The boys both agreed, and she slowly turned on her heel. "Now, where… ah!"

She pointed down a hallway behind her. She practically skipped down it, trying to remember what number rooms Sam and Dean had had. She paused at room 11.

"Dean. This is your room." He didn't question why, nor did he protest. Instead he opened the door and entered slowly, gingerly sitting on the bed. His face lit up as he sunk down.

"Dude. _Memory foam_. It _remembers_ me!" _Unlike Lisa and Ben_ , Lucille thought. It was a joke that she had seen on Tumblr once and couldn't seem to get over. She huffed.

"Go get your crap from the car if you feel like it, or you can do it tomorrow. Oh, yeah. We'll be staying here for a while." Neither man objected, which was surprising.

"Sam," Lucille said, jerking her head to the side. "Your room is over here." She pointed to it. "Room 21. Have fun. See you tomorrow."

She walked back to Dean's room and cracked open the door. He was walking around the small space, inspecting every inch.

"Hey, Dean-o? Can I have the keys for a minute? I need to get some of my stuff." She paused at his suspicious glare. "No, I'm not going to steal Baby. I just need to get something. I can't even drive." Truthfully, yes, she could drive, since she was twelve. That didn't mean she was _going to_.

Thankfully, he relented. He pulled the keys out of his pocket and tossed them across the room to her. She dashed back into the library and up to the balcony, before slowly opening the door. It was dark out, the low hum of the night reaching her ears quickly. She flicked on the flashlight that she had nicked off of the table where the Winchesters left it and shone it up the short flight of stairs.

She crossed the short strip of grass the get to the Impala. She opened the back door after unlocking it and slipped her duffel over her shoulder. Looking around, she made sure that no cars were coming before quickly pulling out her phone and taking a picture of the outside of the bunker. She stuffed the modern device back into the bag before running inside, out of the cold.

She found her way back down to the sleeping quarters and selected a room. The plaque outside read '17'.

She threw the bag onto the floor and fell backwards onto the bed. She pulled off her black combat boots and set them gently beside her bag. She stripped down to her tank top and underwear, finding the bunker surprisingly warm.

Slipping under the deep black sheets, she closed her eyes. Her last thoughts as she drifted to sleep were of two certain extremely tall hunters.

* * *

She woke up early the next morning and decided to look around the room. She opened the top drawer of the desk to find stationary marked with the Aquarian Star. She nodded thoughtfully and closed the drawer, turning towards the closet. She opened it to find several suits, definitely belonging to someone of a short stature.

Ten minutes later she walked into the room Dean had dubbed the 'Bat-Cave' to find both Winchesters already in there. She heard Sam say something about the 'dead guy robe' that Dean was wearing.

"Well, I, for one, think 'dead guy clothes' look amazing," Lucille laughed as she walked in. He looked up and glared at her in shock.

"You too?" Sam groaned. She spread her arms to the side and rotated in a circle. She had found the suits to fit her almost perfectly- the room she had selected had most likely belonged to one of the few Women of Letters of the time. A gray blazer covered a white button down, along with matching grey pants. It was all a little long, but she didn't mind. She loved suits. She wore her own white socks with no shoes. Her hair was pulled back into a messy bun at the top of her head.

"Anyway," Sam said, turning away from them, "I think I found a case." He held up a paper that had been laying on the main table. It was a newspaper, dotted with obituaries.

"Where did you even _get that_?" Lucille asked incredulously.

He shrugged. "Went out this morning, got some breakfast, found this.

"In Toledo, Ohio, a man named suddenly dies. Apparently, the daughter finds him in the bathroom with his eyes missing. They're calling it a stroke, but I'm not so sure."

"So then what is it?" Dean asks his brother. Sam shook his head.

"Lucille?" the younger of two Winchesters asked her. She repeated Sam's motion, the short ponytail at the nape of her hair flaring out.

"What do you say we go check it out?" he said, putting the paper down. Dean and Lucille both groaned.

"Dude, that's like, 13 hours away! And we just got here!" complained Dean. Sam shrugged.

"Alright, fine. I mean, if you don't want to do-" Lucille cut him off.

"No, let's go. We can't just ignore a case. More people could die, Dean," she said, quickly realizing what it was. She looked pointedly at Dean.

"Ugh, _fine_ ," Dean whined. She rolled her eyes, and an hour later they were on their way to Toledo, Ohio.

They arrived in a record time of 11 hours, arriving at the large white hospital a little past 7 pm. Lucille wore a pair of heels that she had found in the closet to make her appear taller, following the boys in.

The trio made their way to a dimly lit hallway. A sign sticking out from the wall above a door read _Morgue, 114_. They turned into the room, which they found to be just as dark as the hallway.

There were two desks, side by side. On the one closest to the door sat a name plate that said _Dr. D. Feiklowicz_. Lucille frowned judgmentally at it as they walked past. She tilted her chin up and straightened her back in an attempt to look older as they approached the other desk. Behind it sat the morgue technician, a nearly bald man with an oddly shaped face.

"Hey," the morgue tech said as they approached. Dean smiled and nodded his head.

"Hey," he replied. Lucille stood confidently between the two Winchesters, looking down on the man with false annoyance. It was an expression she had mastered back in sixth grade- it came in handy when you were as popular as she had been.

"Can I help you?" the tech said, leaning back.

"Yeah. We're the, uh…" Dean paused. "med students."

"Sorry?" The man was clearly confused.

"Oh, Doctor," he stumbled over the name. "Figlavitch didn't tell you? We talked to him on the phone. He, uh, we're from Ohio State. He's supposed to show us the Shoemaker corpse. It's for our paper." The morgue tech looked skeptically over them.

"And her?" He pointed at Lucille. She appeared taken aback.

"Excuse me?" she said hostilely.

"Well, sorry, but you look a little young." Sam and Dean stepped back slightly, wanting to see how this played out.

"I'll have you _know_ , I am eighteen. Now, I don't know if you know this, as apparently _you_ never went to college, but that is _usually_ the age at which people start college. If you're done assuming my age, we'd like to see the Shoemaker corpse, as the doctor said we could," she said scathingly. Her arms folded over her chest, her eyes narrowing. The tech paused, apparently deciding to ignore the majority of her speech.

"Well, I'm sorry, he just left for the day." Dean stepped back in.

"Oh well he said, uh," he paused, waving his hand in the air in a 'never mind' fashion. "Oh, well, you know, it doesn't matter. You don't mind just showing us the body, do you?"

"Sorry, I can't." The man shook his head, expression firm. "Doc will be back pretty early tomorrow. You can come back then if you want."

Dean glanced between Sam and Lucille with a mock worried expression. Tomorrow? Ooh. We gotta have all of our research for the paper. Certain deadlines, you know how it is." Sam nodded.

"Yeah." Lucille returned the look of contempt that the morgue tech was sending them.

"Uh, look, man, this paper's like half our grade, so if you don't mind helping us out-" The tech cut him off.

"Uh, look, man…" he said, mocking Dean. "No." Dean chuckled and turned around so the man couldn't hear him.

"I'm gonna hit him in his face, I swear," he mumbled. Lucille snickered and then flinched away as Sam glared at them.

"C'mon, Moose. He's not lying," she whispered. He rolled his eyes and stepped in front of his brother, opening his wallet and pulling out some a small roll of twenties. He laid a few of them down on the morgue tech's desk. He picked up the money.

"Follow me." He stood and walked through a door in the back of the room. Lucille followed him and ignored whatever Dean was complaining to Sam about. The boys joined her shortly after. There was a body covered in a sheet laying on a table in the middle of the room.

"Now, the newspaper said his daughter found him. She said his eyes were bleeding," Sam said, watching the tech pull the sheet back over Steven Shoemaker's face. Lucille looked away, trying not to gag.

"More than that. They practically _liquefied_." She looked closely at the eyes and grimaced. The actually eyeballs were missing, and the sockets were instead coated in blood.

"Any sign of a struggle? Maybe somebody did it to him?" Dean asked, moving around the head to look closer.

The morgue tech shook his head. "Nope. Besides the daughter, he was all alone."

Lucille looked up. "Official cause of death?" She had watched more than enough Supernatural and crime shows to know what to say.

"Ah, Doc's not sure. He's thinking massive stroke, maybe an aneurysm?" He sighed, a slight smile on his face. _Creepy_ , Lucille thought. "Something burst up in there, that's for sure."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, tilting his head.

"Intense cerebral bleeding. This guy had more blood in his skull than anyone I've ever seen." He look almost _giddy._ Ew.

"The eyes- what would cause something like that?" asked Sam, inspecting the face.

"Capillaries can burst. See a lot of bloodshot eyes with stroke victims."

"Yeah? You ever see exploding eyeballs?" said Dean, somewhat sarcastically. Lucille smirked, looking around the room.

The morgue tech shrugged. "That's a first for me, but, hey, I'm not the doctor."

Dean tilted his head to the side, studying the man. "Hey, think we could take a look at that police report? You know for, uh…" He paused, forgetting their cover. "Our paper."

"Smooth, Winchester," Lucille whispered in his ear. She grunted as he elbowed her in the side.

"You know, I'm not really supposed to show you that." His face was smug- he was obviously looking to get more money. Sam, more than annoyed at this point, pulled out his wallet once more.

* * *

"Funeral's tomorrow, right?" Lucille asked as they walked down the wide staircase in the hospital. She let out a small shriek as the back of her heel caught the edge of a stair. Sam's hand shot out and grabbed her arm. He chuckled as she steadied herself.

"Yeah, two o'clock at the Shoemaker house," he said, looking down at her with a smile. She grinned and pulled her blonde hair up into a ponytail.

"Cool. We _are_ going, right? To speak to the family?" Sam nodded and stuffed his hands in his pockets as they walked outside. There was an awkward moment of silence before he spoke up again.

"You know, it might not be one of ours. Might just be some freak medical thing."

Dean's stepped faltered as he looked at Sam with an amused look. "How many times in Dad's long and varied career has it actually been a freak medical thing and not some sign of an awful supernatural death?"

"Uh, almost never." Lucille rolled her eyes. She couldn't think of a single instance in the show that they investigated something that was actually a normal death.

"Exactly," the older brother said smugly.

* * *

The next day at exactly two o'clock the trio entered the funeral at the Shoemaker house. The attendees were all men in black suits and women in black dresses, except for Sam and Dean. At the very least she had convinced Dean to put on a black tee shirt, and Sam willingly put on a black button down. Lucille had guessed that they would be going to the funeral and packed accordingly. A black lace dress reached her knees, her black beanie pulled low over her head.

"Feels like we're underdressed," Dean noted. Lucille looked at him apathetically out of the corner of her eye.

"Well, I _did_ say something along the line of that, _didn't_ I?" Thick sarcasm dripped from her lips.

"Mm-hm," he hummed passively. His eyes lingered over a picture of Steven Shoemaker surrounded by flowers and cards.

They kept walking through the house towards the back. Sam asked a man where they could find the deceased's family, who pointed them towards a small group of teenagers in the middle of the yard. Lucille nodded to him in thanks as he walked away. A pretty blonde sitting with her back facing them looked up from picking at her nails as they approached. Then again, basically everyone in Supernatural looked pretty in Lucille's opinion.

"You must be Donna, right?" Dean asked, looking at the short-haired brunette in the middle of the group. She looked up, a pensive look on her face.

"Yeah."

Sam seemed to stumble over his words, unsure in the awkwardness of the situation. "Hi, uh- we're really sorry."

"Thank you." Donna looked down. Her friend covered her hand with her own in a comforting touch.

"I'm Sam, this is Dean. We worked with your dad." He paused, glancing at Lucille. He brought his hand up and rested it on her shoulder. "And this is Lucille, my little sister."

"Luci," she corrected gently.

Donna looked at her friend- Charlie, if Lucille remembered correctly, then back at the trio.

"You did?" she asked in response to their mention of working with her dad. She smiled nervously and glanced at Charlie. Dean nodded then shook his head solemnly.

"Yeah. This whole thing. I mean, a stroke," Dean said, frowning.

Charlie lightly wrapped an arm around Donna, turning her away. "I don't think she really wants to talk about this right now." Donna shrugged her arm off.

"It's okay. I'm okay."

"Were there any symptoms? Dizziness? Migraines?" asked Dean, eyebrows furrowed.

"No," Donna replied. Her voice was mildly distraught and Charlie gently soothed her. _Huh. Maybe they're more than friends_ , Lucille thought, looking between the two. Lily, Donna's younger sister, twisted in her seat behind her sister, evidently eavesdropping on the conversation.

"That's because it _wasn't_ a stroke!" she said, glaring at her sister.

"Lily, don't say that."

Lucille nudged Sam while the sisters were distracted. "I'll go," she mouthed, jerking her head towards Lily. He nodded. She circled around the chairs and sat next to Lily.

"What?" Lucille asked, looking at the younger girl.

Donna sighed. "I'm sorry, she's just upset."

"No, it happened because of me." She seemed resolute in her answer and Donna's face grew soft.

"Sweetie, it didn't."

Lucille drew Lily's attention to herself. "Lily, right? Why don't you tell me what happened?" They stood up together and began walking aimlessly around the yard.

"Right before he died, I said it," she admitted after a moment of silence.

"What exactly did you say?" They walked with their arms almost touching, heads down.

"Bloody Mary, three times in the bathroom mirror," she whispered quietly. "She took his eyes, that's what she does."

"But why would it go after him? You're the one who said it, not him," Lucille reasoned with her.

"No, but…" She trailed off. The corners of Lucille's lips tilted down in a small frown. She hadn't been like this when _she_ was twelve, did she? She saw the Winchesters walk inside the house. She thought back on the episode- she had rewatched it before leaving the bunker.

"Do you know how the Bloody Mary legend began?" Lily shook her head. "Well, I do. I like researching this stuff.

"Her name was Mary Worthington, she was nineteen, I think. Her case is an unsolved murder in Fort Wayne, Indiana. Now, if I remember correctly, her eyes were cut out with near surgical precision. She was killed in front of a mirror, and on that mirror the letters 'T-R-E' were painted in blood. Nobody knows for certain who did it, but a detective had a theory. A man named Trevor Sampson. He was a surgeon." She paused, studying Lily's face. She was hiding it well, but Lucille could tell she was horrified.

"Apparently, Mary was…" They were having an affair, but she couldn't exactly say that to a twelve year old, could she? "Best friends with Trevor, but nobody knew. She was going to tell Trevor's wife, but that might make her upset. So Trevor…" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Killed her."

She smirked at Lily's wide eyes. "Legend says that if you don't cover the mirrors in a house after somebody dies, the soul might get trapped in one. But that can't _really_ happen. You know what?"

"What?" Lily asked, her head tilted to the side. The older girl thought for a moment.

"I know a lot about ghosts, and other monsters. I've read almost every book there is to read on them. Bloody Mary would be a ghost, if they were real. Ghosts are tied to one object, or their bones. In this case, it was the mirror. Now, as far as I know, that mirror is still in Fort Wayne. So that means that the spirit can't leave that town."

"Well then what-" Lily began skeptically before Lucille cut her off once more.

"Trust me, it was a stroke, or _something_ like that." She put a hand on the younger girl's shoulder and studied her face. "Don't worry Lily, it's not your fault. I…" she paused and looked to the side. Sam and Dean were standing in the doorway to the house and beckoning to her. "I have to go. It was nice meeting you, Lily, and I'm sorry for your loss," she said softly over her shoulder.

The Winchesters were already walking back through the house by the time she caught up with them. She quickly fell into step with them and slipped into their conversation. The brothers explained what had happened while she was talking to Lily- they had looked around upstairs before getting caught by Charlie.

"Bloody Mary," Lucille said suddenly. Sam and Dean looked at her strangely.

"What? No- no, Lucille. That's just a legend," said Sam as they walked out of the front of the house.

" _No_ , it's _not_ ," she responded stubbornly. "Mary Worthington. Fort Wayne, Indiana. It's real." They all climbed into the Impala.

"There's like, 50 different versions of who she really was. One story says she's a witch, another says she's a mutilated bride, there's a lot more. What was she really?" Sam asked as they began driving towards the motel. Lucille tapped her fingers against the seat beside her energetically.

"Okay. _So_ ," she clapped her hands together, "Mary Worthington was a girl that lived in Fort Wayne, Indiana. Mary was nineteen, and she lived by herself. She won a couple local beauty contests, dreamt of getting out of Indiana, being an actress. So _then_ , March 29th one year, someone broke into her apartment and _murdered_ her- cut out her eyes with a knife. They never found any concrete evidence to prove it, but there was theory that it was a surgeon named Trevor Sampson. Her diary said she was seeing someone named 'T', and the last entry said she was going to tell his wife. Plus, it said the letters 'T-R-E' on the mirror. That doesn't really matter. Back to the myth. If you say Bloody Mary three times in a mirror in the same area as the original mirror, she'll come for the closest person who has a secret- more specifically, a secret about killing someone." Sam looked at her over his shoulder in surprise.

"How do you know all that?" She paused- it was easy answer, the same one she had given them over the past couple of months.

" _Angel_ ," she said, dragging the word out mock-patronizingly. "We liked keeping an eye on all of the popular true myths. Make sure they don't get out of hand. Sometimes they do. Hunters usually deal with them."

"You said she was killed in Fort Wayne, so why're people dropping dead over here?" Dean asked.

"Mirror must've moved." She shrugged, her face lighting up. "That could be a tongue twister. Mirror must've moved, mirror must've moved, mirrow musta… Dammit. I messed up."

"Yeah, okay. Have fun with that. Now, how do we find this mirror?" Lucille groaned at Dean's question. She had forgotten the specifics of the episode by now.

"How am I supposed to know? It must've moved recently. Worthington had a brother, I think. Why don't you call and ask _him_ where it is?" It had been a habit of hers to call people by their last names ever since reading Harry Potter in the third grade.

* * *

Two hours later Lucille found herself perched on the edge of a bed in their motel room. Dean laid flat on his back behind her, legs crossed and arms stretched above his head. Their eyes followed Sam as he paced around the room slowly, a phone held to his ear.

"Oh really? Ah, that's too bad, Mr. Worthington. I would have paid a lot for that mirror. Okay, well maybe next time. All right, thanks." He hung up and tossed the phone onto the other bed.

"So?" Dean and Lucille asked at the same time.

"So, that was Mary's brother. The mirror was in the family for years, until he sold it _one week ago_ to a store called _Estate Antiques_. A store in _Toledo_." The brothers both looked at Lucille.

Dean sat up and folded his arms in his lap. "So wherever the mirror goes, that's where Mary goes?"

"Her spirit's definitely tied up with it somehow," commented the younger brother.

"Mm. There's an old superstition that says mirrors can capture spirits. Someone dies in a house, you don't cover the mirrors, soul gets trapped, yada yada." She waved her hand nonchalantly. "So _Mary,_ you know, goes and dies in front of a mirror. And… it draws in her spirit."

"Yeah, but how could she move through, like, a hundred different mirrors?" Lucille turned to Sam and studied his face for a moment, eyes narrowed. Then she looked away as if nothing had happened.

"Dunno. Doesn't really matter. What _does_ matter is how we kill her. Basically, we find the mirror, draw her to it, smash it, then show her her reflection. Got it?" They nodded.

"Let's go kill this damn son of a bitch," the oldest of the three said, standing up. The youngest frowned and stood up after him, putting herself between him and the door.

"Um, no. Let's go kill that 'damn son of a bitch' _tomorrow_. I'm hungry. You should go get _dinner_ instead."

"Ugh, fine. I think I saw a diner down the road. You coming?"

She laughed. "Me? Nah. I'm going to stay _here_. Get a salad for me, would you?" She smiled sweetly and tossed him the keys off of the table. He rolled his eyes and walked towards the door.

"Sam?" His brother shook his head.

"I'm staying too. Lucille might do something stupid." The girl in question gaped at him, mock offended.

"I will smite you," she muttered. Sam looked at her, amused, before falling back onto the other bed.

Dean left the motel, and Sam fell asleep shortly after. Lucille stood up and leaned against the wall next to his bed, watching his face. One moment it was peaceful, the next panic-stricken and scared. Her eyes widened and she gently sat down next to him, placing a hand on his arm.

"Sam," she whispered, gently shaking him. Her voice rose when he didn't wake up. "Sam. Sam!"  
His eyes flew open and his breath quickened. He looked at her and slowly sat up.

"Why'd you let me fall asleep?" She pushed him away from her and stood up.

"Uh, cause I'm not your babysitter?" she said sarcastically. "What'd you dream about?" She knew what it was, but she wanted to see if he would lie.

"Lollipops and candy canes." It was a sarcastic phrase, but he said it with complete seriousness.

"Yeah, sure." Her voice softened. "Was it Jess?" she asked tentatively.

He turned away as the door opened and Dean walked in with a fast food bag hanging from his arm. She walked to the table as he set it down and opened the bag. She grabbed one of the two salads and pulled a chair out.

"Neither of us died," she pointed out to Dean as he sat down across from her.

* * *

The next morning Lucille woke up to a ringing cell phone. It was Sam's. She glanced at Sam and Dean, both still sleeping, and stood up. She snatched the phone off of the nightstand between their beds- she had slept on the couch- and answered the call.

"Hello?" she asked sleepily, dragging an arm across her face.

"Ar- are Sam and Dean there?" It was the girl from the funeral, Charlie. Shit- Lucille had forgotten that her friend was going to die.

"Uh, Charlie, right? This is Lucille. Sam and Dean are sleeping. What's wrong?"

The voice on the other end of the line quivered. "I- I need to speak to them. Something happened."

"Charlie, listen to me. I know everything they know. I work with them. How about this- I'll wake them up and we can meet up in about thirty minutes. Just text us where you are and we'll be there soon."

"Th- thank you." She hung up after that.

"Wake up, Winchesters!" she said loudly, setting the phone back on the nightstand after receiving a message with an address on it.

"Houston, we have a problem," she said in a deep voice as they woke up.

"What happened?" asked Sam as he got up. Lucille hummed quietly as Dean came to as well.

"Well," she said eventually, "Charlie, that girl you talked to yesterday? She called, said something was wrong. We're meeting in, what, 25 minutes? She texted you that address." That seemed to kick the brothers into gear, and soon the trio arrived at the park that Charlie had told them to come to.

They headed directly for the park bench that they found Charlie to be sitting on. Her eyes looked red and swollen, and tears stained her cheeks. She looked up as the three approached and smiled half-heartedly. Lucille frowned sympathetically and sat next to Charlie on the bench. Dean perched on the back of the bench beside her and Sam stood to the side.

"Charlie. What happened?" Lucille asked gently.

"My- my friend, Jill. She's-" Her voice caught in her throat and she whispered the next word. "Dead.

"They found her on the bathroom floor. And her- h- her eyes. They were gone." She vaguely gestured to her face as she spoke.

"I'm sorry," Sam said softly.

"And she said it… _Bloody Mary_. I heard her say it. But it couldn't be because of that. I'm insane, right?" Dean looked at Sam and an unspoken conversation passed between their eyes.

"No, you're not insane," reassured Lucille. Charlie put her head in her hands, her body shaking slightly.

"Oh God, that makes me feel so much worse." Sam looked like he was going to say something, but Lucille held up a finger and mouthed the words, "Let me."

"Look. Charlie. Something's happening here. Something that can't be explained without it sounding completely _insane_. But you're going to have to trust us, okay?" The older girl looked up and nodded. "Bloody Mary is real. She goes after people who are at fault for someone else's death. Now, do you know why Jill was… gone after?" Charlie looked shocked.

"Jill wo- Jill would never kill someone! She wouldn't hurt a fly!"

"I'll admit, it was probably an accident. A boy named Gary Bryman, killed in a hit-and-run. I did some digging this morning- it was a black Toyota Camry. Sound familiar?" Lucille studied the older girl's face, searching for a sign of reckognization.

"Oh my God. That was Jill's car." Her voice was aghast.

"I want to know why Jill said it in the first place," Dean said. Lucille twisted to the side and glared at him. She elbowed his leg.

"It's just a joke," Charlie said weakly.

"Yeah well somebody's gonna say it again, it's just a matter of time," he responded, ignoring the youngest girl.

"And that's why we go and kill the damn thing now," said Lucille patronizingly. She stood up and began walking to the car, Sam and Dean not far behind her.

She paused, looking over her shoulder at Charlie. "Best not mention the whole Bloody Mary thing to anyone."

They took off down the road towards Estate Antiques and began discussing the matter of killing Mary.

"Well Mary's hard to pin down, right? I mean she moves around from mirror to mirror so who's to say that she's not just gonna keep hiding in them forever? So maybe we should try to pin her down, you know, summon her to her mirror and _then_ smash it," Sam was saying. Lucille had zoned out during the first part of the conversation, only now tuning back in.

"Well, how do you know that's going to work?" Dean retorted. Lucille bit her lip and recalled what happened next.

"I don't- not for sure."

Dean paused. "Well, who's gonna summon her?"

"I will. She'll come after me." Sam's tone was final, leaving almost no room for discussion. Unless, of course, your name was Dean Winchester.

"You know what, that's it." The car slowed to a stop. The brothers completely ignored the fact that there was another person in the car. "This is about Jessica, isn't it? You think that's your dirty little secret that you killed her somehow? Sam, this has got to stop, man. I mean, the nightmares and calling her name out in the middle of the night- it's gonna kill you. Now, listen to me. It wasn't your fault. If you wanna blame something, then blame the thing that killed her. Blame Lucille. Or Hell, why don't you take a swing at me? I mean I'm the one that dragged you away from her in the first place." Sam was silent.

"I don't blame you, or Lucille," he said finally, his tone muted.

"Well you shouldn't blame yourself, because there's nothing you could've done."

"I could've warned her." Lucille cringed, realising that him summoning her wasn't going to work- Lucille already knew about his secret. She also realized that she knew about all of the other deaths in the show, and she could have prevented them. That meant that _she_ could summon Bloody Mary.

About what? You didn't know what was gonna happen! And besides, all of this isn't a secret, I mean I know all about it. It's not gonna work with Mary anyway."

"No, you don't." She could hear the pain in his voice, even though they were facing away from her.

Dean paused. "I don't _what_?"

"You don't know all about it. I haven't told you everything."

"What are you talking about?"

"Well it wouldn't really be a secret if I told you, would it?" Lucille opened her mouth to point out that she already knew, but found that the words refused to leave her mouth. She looked into the rearview mirror and stared at Dean's face. Revelation crossed it, then anger.

"No. I don't like it. It's not gonna happen, forget it."

"Dean, more people are going to die unless we do something about it. You said so yourself. And you know what? Now, we're doing this. You've got to let me do this." Something akin to despair colored his voice, but not quite.

They soon arrived at the small shop. It wasn't going to open for another two hours. Sam bent down in front of the door and began picking the lock. Dean frowned as the door opened to reveal a room lined with mirrors and antique lamps.

"Well… that's just great." He pulled the picture that they had found the night before of Mary's dead body in front of the mirror and held it up. "All right, let's start looking." He exhaled and shook his head, running his flashlight over each mirror. It was dark in the shop despite the bright midday sun outside, the windows heavily tinted. Lucille followed Sam towards the back room, prepared to tell him that she knew about Jessica.

"Maybe they've already sold it," Dean called out quietly.

Sam's flashlight stopped on an ornate bronze mirror. "I don't think so."

Dean walked up behind them and pulled out the picture again to compare. It was definitely the mirror.

"That's it." He sighed heavily. "You sure about this?" Sam turned and handed his flashlight to Lucille, who accepted it with a small nod, her confession completely forgotten.

Sam faced the mirror in trepidation and exhaled steadily. "Bloody Mary. Bloody Mary." He looked at the other two, who each gave him an unsure look back. He accepted the crowbar gratefully from Lucille and held it above his head like a bat before repeating the words for the third time. "Bloody Mary."

A bright light bled through the tinted glass at the front of the store and Dean turned towards it.

"I'll go check that out. Stay here, be careful." Sam adjusted his grip on the crowbar, obviously nervous. "Smash anything that moves." Dean walked away towards the front door, and Lucille turned away from Sam.

"Where… ah." She took a couple steps and quickly found a small mirror, about the size of her torso. She held it up in front of her in preparation as Sam began looking in different mirrors. She followed his gaze and her blood ran cold as she saw a girl in a pale dress with dark hair hanging in her face. She was standing right behind Sam.

Sam glanced to the side towards a silver mirror and Lucille jumped back as the crowbar swung out towards it. The mirror shattered, small reflective pieces falling to the ground. He adjusted his grip and swung again, towards a different, larger mirror. Another ornate mirror was smashed before he faced Mary's mirror.

"Come on. Come into this one." His words were harsh, but she could hear an edge of fear. Lucille stared at his reflection, which had stopped moving with Sam. She raised her arm to confirm that her own reflection behind him was still working- it was. She glanced over to the real Sam, her eyes widening as she realized he wasn't breathing correctly. A trickle of blood dripped from the corner of his eye as she wrapped her hand around his arm, dropping her own mirror.

"Sam? Sam! Look away from the mirror," she urged. He stayed frozen in his spot, watching the reflection. _Sam_ tilted his head to the side, the blood flowing freely from his eyes. The real Sam dropped the crowbar and clutched his chest.

The reflection spoke with malice. "It's your fault. You killed her. You killed Jessica."

"No! Sam. Listen to me." Lucille's voice dropped to a soft whisper. "It's not your fault. If anything, it's _my_ fault. I tried to stop it, and I couldn't. Don't blame yourself." _Sam_ continued talking.

"You never told her the truth- who you really were. Sam slowly fell to the ground, and Lucille panicked. "But it's more than that, isn't it? Those nightmares you've been having of Jessica dying, screaming, burning—You had them for days before she died. Didn't you!? You were so desperate to ignore them, to believe they were just-" The reflection was cut off as Lucille smashed the mirror with the forgotten crowbar. She fell to her knees beside Sam and placed a hand on his arm.

"Samuel? Are you okay?" She also had a tendency to call people by their full name. He didn't respond. Just then Dean came running in, sliding to a stop.

"Sam? Sammy!" he exclaimed. Sam coughed and opened his eyes, sitting up.

"It's _Sam_ ," he said seriously, before a small smile crossed his face.

Dean seemed to notice the blood that had come out of his eyes for the first time. "God, are you okay?"

He coughed. "Uh, yeah."

"Come on, come on." Dean stood up and leant down, pulling Sam up with him. He put Sam's arm over his neck, then extended a hand to Lucille. She gratefully took it, brushing the dirt off of her white skirt. They began walking out before Lucille realized that they had forgotten to do something- finish killing Mary. She turned on her heel and stepped back as Mary began crawling out of the frame of the broken mirror.

"The Hell is this, the Ring?" she exclaimed, reaching for the nearest mirror. Her shout drew the Winchester's attention and they turned to see Mary. They both fell back, blood dripping from their eyes. Sam made a choked sound. Lucille ignored them and pulled the nearest mirror in front of her, so Mary was forced to see her own reflection.

"You killed them! All those people! You killed them!" Mary began choking and clutched her throat, her face contorting. Her features drooped, and Lucille grimaced in disgust as her entire body melted into a pile of blood. The blood turned to small shards of glass as it hit the floor, more pieces joining those as Lucille threw the mirror to the floor, shattering it.

"Hey Sam?" she heard from behind her. Her gaze turned to the two brothers on the floor, leaning back on their elbows.

"Yeah?" Sam responded as Lucille helped them up.

"This has got to be like… what? 600 years of bad luck?" Sam chuckled weakly.

* * *

"Hey, Sam?" Dean asked as they drove away from the town.

Sam glanced over to his brother briefly. "Yeah?"

"Now that this is all over, I want you to tell me what that secret is."

"Look… you're my brother, and I'd die for you, but there are some things I need to keep to myself." Lucille smiled sadly, knowing how much her death hurt him.

She was still confused as to how he could summon Bloody Mary, given her knowledge of his 'secret'.


	8. Skins- Ugh, Gross

**Skins- Ugh. Gross.**

 **HEY GUYS! I'm back. There's some new revelations and crap in this chapter, we're finally gonna get this story moving.**

 **And now she has two kind of catchphrases.**

 **TBH I kind of hate this episode, it's gross**

 **Here's a short chapter for you**

"God… Hey, Dean." Sam's call echoed through the main room of the bunker. Lucille and Dean both looked up- the younger girl had been looking through the archives of books, while Dean had been messing around with the weapons displayed on the tops of short bookcases. Lucille wandered over to the table in the middle of the room. She slid into the seat to the left of Sam, who was tapping on a small handheld device with a white stylus.

"Find a case?" the older brother questioned, setting the katana that he had been waving through the air back on its stand. Lucille could faintly see a small red dot on his finger- blood. _Idiot_ , she thought.

"Sort of," Sam replied, eyebrows furrowed in worry as he looked at the screen. "I was reading emails-" Dean cut him off, scoffing lightly.

"Emails from who?"

"From my friends at Stanford," Sam said indignantly. Dean's eyes widened slightly in surprise, then narrowed in disbelief.

"You're _kidding_. You still keep in touch with your college buddies?"

"Why not?"

Dean frowned slightly, contemplating the question. "Well, what exactly do you tell 'em? You know, about where you've _been_ , what you've been _doing_?"

Sam shrugged and looked back down at the device- a PalmPilot, or something like that. Lucille had researched it after seeing this episode. Speaking of which, she should probably watch it again sometime soon. "I tell 'em I'm on a road trip with my big brother. I tell 'em I needed some time off after Jess."

"Oh, so you lie to 'em." Dean's voice held an accusatory tone, and Sam looked offended. Lucille placed one hand on his arm and pointed the other at Dean.

"Can we _not_? I'd like to hear about this 'sort of case' that Sam was talking about, if you don't _mind_." She glared at Dean, then turned back to the younger Winchester. He smiled gratefully at her.

"I got an email from this girl, Rebecca Warren, one of those friends of mine."

Dean interrupted him once more. "Is she hot?" Sam ignored him.

"I went to school with her, and her brother, Zack. She says Zack's been charged with murder. He's been arrested for killing his girlfriend. Rebecca says he didn't do it, but it sounds like the cops have a pretty good case." His brother stared at him incredulously, laughing lightly.

"Dude, what kind of people are you hanging out with?" Lucille stood up abruptly and crossed the room, reaching up and hitting Dean across the back of the head. He rubbed his head and blinked at her in shock.

"Okay, yeah, I probably deserved that," he conceded. Sam raised an eyebrow and smirked lightly, before he remembered what they had been talking about, his smile dropping.

"I know Zack. He's no killer."

"Well, maybe you know Zack as well as he knows you." Apparently, he hadn't gotten the message yet.

"Dean!" Lucille scolded, punching him gently in the arm. He rolled his eyes and held up his hands in mock surrender.

"They're in St. Louis. We're going," he said confidently.

Dean chuckled and Lucille glared at him, a warning clear in her eyes. A warning that, apparently, he didn't see. "Look, sorry 'bout your buddy, okay? But this doesn't sound like our kind of problem."

Lucille sighed and looked around the room. "Dean, it doesn't _matter_ if it's not your _usual_ case. It's his _friends_." She spoke condescendingly, her arms crossed over her chest. He rolled his eyes and ignored her, trying to think of a different excuse.

"St. Louis is five hundred miles away, Sam."

It took another ten minutes of convincing and then another hour of packing(most of which was because Lucille had to watch the episode again) before they left for St. Louis. They spent the next eight hours driving to the city in Missouri.

They pulled up to a small house, apparently where Rebecca lived. Lucille and Dean stood behind Sam as he knocked on the door. It swung open and a girl with straight blonde hair and striking blue eyes stood in the doorway. Her face lit up, seeing her old friend.

"Oh my God, Sam!" Sam smiled and looked down at her- she was short, about Lucille's height.

"Well, if it isn't little Becky." She frowned mockingly and looked up at him, a challenge in her eyes.

"You know what you can do with that little Becky crap," she said, smiling again. She had yet to notice the two standing behind him. She stood on her toes and reached up, wrapping her arms over his shoulders. He leaned down and embraced her tightly before stepping back.

"I got your email," he said, his smile faltering slightly. Rebecca looked at him in surprise.

"I didn't think that you would come _here_." Dean stepped forward and extended his hand, smiling.

"Dean. Older brother." She shook his hand as Lucille stepped out from behind Sam and lifted her arm in greeting.

"Hey. Luci, Sam's cousin."

"Hi," said Rebecca, smiling.

"Hi." Dean smiled charmingly and Lucille kicked the back of his foot. Could he, like, _not_ flirt with every girl he saw? Sam hardly spared the two a glance, grinning gently at Rebecca.

"We're here to help. Whatever we can do." Rebecca stepped to the side and welcomed them inside. Lucille closed the door behind her as they walked inside.

"Nice place," said Dean, looking around as Rebecca led them towards the kitchen.

"It's my parents'. I was just crashing here for the long weekend when everything happened. I decided to take the semester off. I'm gonna stay until Zack's free."

Sam glanced back at his brother and 'cousin'. "Where are your folks?"

"They live in Paris for half the year, so they're on their way home now for the trial." They entered the kitchen and she circled the island in the middle, standing beside the large stainless steel fridge. "Do you guys want a beer or something?" she asked, addressing the two brothers. She looked at Lucille and frowned slightly. "We, uh, have lemonade too." Lucille shook her head.

Dean smiled and pointed at her, excited at the offer of beer. "Hey-"

Sam cut him off abruptly, leaning against the island. "No thanks. So, tell us what happened."

"Well, um, Zack came home, and he found Emily tied to a chair. And she was beaten up and bloody, and she wasn't breathing." Her voice broke and her eyes started to tear up as she spoke. "So, he called 911, and the police- they showed up, and they arrested _him_. But, the thing is, the only way that Zack could've killed Emily is if he was in two places at the same time. The police, they have a video. It's from the security tape from across the street. And it shows Zack coming home at 10:30. Now, Emily was killed just after that, but I _swear_ , he was here with me, having a few beers until at least after midnight."

Sam held her distressed gaze. "You know, maybe we could see the crime scene. Zack's house."

"We could," Dean agreed. Lucille nodded, before realizing that- right. She was fourteen, and most fourteen year olds don't investigate crime scenes.

Rebecca looked between the brothers, confused. "Why? I mean, what could you do? And, her…" She trailed off, gesturing to Lucille.

"Well, us, not much," he said, waving his hand between him and Lucille. "But Dean's a cop." Dean laughed and held his hands up in a proud gesture.

"Detective, actually."

Rebecca's eyes widened. "Really?" Dean nodded. "Where?"

He paused. "Bisbee, Arizona. But I'm off-duty now." He grinned and Lucille stared at him dryly, unamused.

"Alright, stop bragging, Mr. Police," she said, patting him on the shoulder patronizingly. He rolled his eyes and shrugged her hand off.

Rebecca's smile fell as she thought about the offer. "You guys, it's so nice to offer, but I just- I don't know. And what about her? She can't go to a crime scene." She looked back over to Lucille.

"I'm right here, you know." Her mutter went unacknowledged.

The corners of Sam's mouth tilted down slightly as he said, "Beck, look, I know Zack _didn't_ _do_ _this_. Now, we have to find a way to _prove_ that he's innocent. And trust me, Lucille won't be going."

That seemed to win her over. "Okay. I'm gonna go get the keys." She pushed herself away from the counter and walked away, down the hall.

Dean whistled lowly as soon as she was out of earshot. "Oh, yeah, man, you're a real straight shooter with your friends." Lucille rolled her eyes and circled around the island, trailing her hand over the marble pattern.

"Look, Zack and Becky need our help."

"I just don't think this is our kind of problem."

Lucille quickly cut into their argument. " _Dean_ ," she whined, drawing out the word. She pulled the best puppy dog look she could and stared at him, trying to guilt trip him. She knew what this case was, and she really wanted to investigate it. "These are your brother's friends! And it probably is a case. I mean, two places at once?" She forced her voice into a more melodic, drifting tone; the tone that she always used when trying to get something. Dean said nothing, defeated.

"Fine," he said at last, his voice gruff. She smiled brightly and tucked a lock of hair that had come loose from her short braid behind her ear.

"So, um," said Rebecca as she walked back into the room, a set of keys in her hand. "What about Lucille? Kids can't exactly go to a crime scene."

"I am not a _kid_ ," she mumbled under her breath. Sam frowned.

"Would it be okay for her to stay here while we go check out the crime scene?" he asked his friend. "She won't do anything, I promise." Rebecca looked at her nervously, obviously not fully trusting the young girl in the house all alone. Lucille did her best to look wide-eyed and innocent.

"Uh, sure," she said, finally.

They went to Zack's house shortly after that, leaving the young 'angel' all alone. She began wandering around almost directly after the door closed, exploring the large house. She opened the freezer and found a small tub of ice cream.

"Bingo, bitches," she said aloud to the empty house. She looked through the drawers to find a spoon and popped open the lid. It was already half-empty, who was going to notice a little more missing?

A car door slammed outside, and she quickly shoved the ice cream back into the freezer. She licked the spoon clean and tossed it into the sink before peering out through the blinds. Oh. It was just the neighbors. She shrugged to herself and wandered through the open rooms on the bottom floor, opening every drawer and cabinet she found. She wanted to find something interesting- or at least some candy. There hadn't been any sweets in the kitchen aside from the ice cream.

Finally, she found a small stash of candy in the drawer beside the couch in the living room. She plucked a butterscotch lollipop from the pile and unwrapped it, shoving the wrapper in the back pocket of her jeans. Her eyes drifted closed as she sat on the couch, sucking on the lollipop; not quite asleep, just relaxed.

The small group returned about an hour later, the lollipop was long gone by then. Lucille stood up and leisurely stretched as they walked through the front door, smiling.

"Sup. Find anything interesting?" she asked. Rebecca quickly left to another room, searching for something.

"Well, the neighbor's dog went psycho right around the time Zack's girlfriend was killed," Dean replied. He walked past Sam, who had paused in the front hallway to stare at a small framed picture. Lucille approached the younger Winchester and peered at it from beside him. It was of him, Rebecca, and Zack.

"Hmm," she said, pondering it. "Animals can be very aware of paranormal activity, you know."

"Yeah, that's what Sam said too," said the older Winchester, frowning. 'We're going to watch the security footage from outside his house."

Rebecca walked back into the room at that moment, motioning for them to come with her into the living room. She handed Sam the remote to the television. The screen was divided into four different sections of four different angles, each labeled with a timestamp(they were all the same) and a camera number. He pressed play, and soon the back of a man came into view in camera four.

Dean quickly noted the timestamp. "22:04, that's just after ten. You said time of death was about 10:30." Rebecca nodded.

"Our lawyers hired some kind of video expert. He says the tape's authentic. It wasn't tampered with." Lucille watched camera one intently and saw something flash as his face passed through it. Sam seemed to notice it too, pausing the video.

"Hey, Beck, can we take those beers now?" He smiled gratefully as she stood up to go to the kitchen.

"Oh, sure." She paused in the doorway as Sam called out once again.

"Maybe some sandwiches, too?"

She rolled her eyes and smiled. "What do you think this is, Hooters?" She left the room and Sam quickly rewinded the tape.

"I wish," Dean muttered. Lucille kicked him lightly as he passed her to walk over to Sam. "What is it?"

"Check this out." He played the tape again, frame by frame. One of the frames showed Zack looking directly at the camera. His eyes flashed with silver and Sam paused the video.

Dean, still reluctant to admit that it may actually be a case, said, "Well, maybe it's just a camera flare."

"That's not like any camera flare I've ever seen. You know, a lot of cultures believe that a photograph can catch a glimpse of the soul."

Lucille decided to speak up and help them. "It's a shapeshifter, I would assume."

* * *

The next morning Sam woke Dean and Lucille up at five in the morning- something that neither of them were very happy about- to check out a lead that Sam had thought of. Lucille scowled and pulled her jacket tighter around herself as they got out of the car, which was parked behind Zack's house.

"Alright, so what are we doing here at 5:30 in the morning?" Dean asked, a hint of passive aggressiveness in his voice. One of his hands was wrapped around a large cup of coffee, the other pressed to his side as a defense against the cold.

"I realized something. The videotape shows the killer going in, but not coming out." He began inspecting the back of the house and everything surrounding it. Lucille walked directly to the telephone pole right next to the house and pretending to look at it, before turning back to the brothers.

"Blood," she said, nodding her head towards the pole behind her.

"So, he came out the back door?" asked Dean as he walked over beside Lucille.

"Right. So, there should be a trail to follow. A trail the police would never pursue," Sam confirmed, looking closely at the blood.

"'Cause they think the killer never left. And they caught your friend Zack inside. I still don't know what we're doin' here at 5:30 in the morning," Dean finished. Lucille reached out and lightly touched the blood, stepping closer when she realized it was dry.

"So, somebody came this way," she summarized.

"Yeah, but the trail ends. I don't see anything over here," said Dean, looking around for more blood. She wandered towards the street and pointed down.

"Sewers. Obviously," she said smugly, surprised that they hadn't figured it out sooner. She stepped back from the side of the road as an ambulance sped past, lights flashing. She pointed after it, a questioning look in her eyes.

* * *

"What happened?" Dean asked a dark skinned woman standing to the side of the new crime scene. Lucille stood on her toes, trying to peer over the other heads in front of her to see what was happening.

"He tried to kill his wife. Tied her up and beat her," replied the jogger, folding her arms over her stomach.

"Really?" Sam asked. It was easy to tell that he wasn't all that surprised.

The woman shook her head disappointedly. "I used to see him going to work in the morning. He'd wave, say hello. He seemed like such a nice guy."

Lucille, still not able to see, heard a car door slam, then the sound of a car driving away. She looked back at the Winchesters and frowned to see that Sam was already going behind the house. Glancing behind her to make sure nobody else was looking, she followed him around the house, while Dean went through the crowd.

"Hey," she whined, mock pouting. "You didn't wait for me!" Sam looked at her amusedly out of the corner of his eye. He began looking around the building, searching for any sign of blood from the shifter. Lucille trailed after him absentmindedly, picking at her nails. She looked up at the sound of a garbage can slamming closed and scowled, repulsed at the fact that he was looking in the trash. He opened the second trash can and peered inside.

"What are you… _What_ are you looking for?" she finally asked as he closed the lid, her head tilted in confusion. It was an action she noticed Castiel doing on the show and picked up. He shrugged and looked back over his shoulder at her.

"Anything, really," he said as they walked back around the side of the house. Dean emerged from the crowd of people and waved them over.

"Hey. Remember when I said this wasn't our kind of problem?" he said.

"Yeah."

" _Definitely_ our kind of problem," he said, swinging a hand down in front of his chest.

"What'd you find out?" Sam asked his brother. Dean pointed back over his shoulder.

"Well, I just talked to the patrolman who was first on the scene, heard this guy, Alex's story. Apparently the dude was _driving_ home from a business trip when his wife was attacked." Lucille tilted her head curiously, pretending to think about it.

"So, he was two places at once," said the younger brother, shifting on his feet.

"Exactly. Then he sees himself in the house, police think he's a nutjob." Dean's hands flew out as he spoke to prove his point.

"Two dark doubles attacking loved ones in exactly the same way," said Sam thoughtfully, stepping forward around his brother. Lucille stepped forward as Dean turned back towards the younger Winchester.

"Could be the same thing doin' it, too," he said.

Lucille decided to speak up again at that point. "Like I said, a shifter." She paused, jerking her head to the side and leading them away from the people so they didn't hear their conversation.

"Alright, so. Shapeshifter. Every culture has one. Um… You can kill them with a silver bullet to the heart. They're in the same family as werewolves, skinwalkers- you know. Things like that. We know it's crawling around in the sewers, and you can tell that it's a shapeshifter because of their eyes through a camera," she said, summing up everything that she knew about the creatures. "Two attacks, within blocks of each other. There's definitely one of these things in the area."

"Let me ask you this- in all this shapeshifter lore, can any of them fly?" asked Sam, glancing up.

"Why do you ask?" she said, biting her lip.

"I picked up a trail here. Someone ran out the back of this building and headed off this way." He pointed towards the back of the building.

"Just like your friend's house," Dean noted.

"Yeah. And, just like at Zack's house, the trail suddenly ends. I mean, whatever it is just disappeared." Lucille rolled her eyes at their idiocy.

"Oh my _Chuck_ , you complete _failures_ ," she groaned, leaning against the brick wall. "First of all, where did you even find the trail? I was right there the entire time! You know what? Never mind." She paused, trying to remember what she was going to say. "Secondly, were you not listening at all? Like I said, sewers." She pointed at the manhole in the middle of the road exasperatedly, staring the taller men in the face.

"Then let's go," Sam said, starting towards the car to get the stuff they would need. Lucille narrowed her eyebrows disgustedly, realizing that she would have to go down with them.

* * *

"This _smells_ ," she complained sharply as she followed the brothers down the ladder into the sewers. The boys each had a gun loaded with silver bullets, and Lucille was equipped with her angel blade. She grunted as she landed on the ground after jumping the last couple of rungs. The trio looked around at the tunnel walls, all three pairs of eyes adjusting to the dim lighting.

"I bet this runs right by Zack's house, too. The shapeshifter is _definitely_ using the sewers to get around," said Sam, ignoring Lucille's comments. They all clicked on their flashlights, shining them around the sewer.

"I think you're right," agreed Dean, bending down. "Look at this." Lucille stepped forward and almost immediately jumped back again. A pile of blood, skin, hair, and teeth was sitting on the ground. She covered her mouth, trying not to gag.

"Is this from his victims?" Sam asked. Dean opened a small pocket knife and held up a small string of hair with it.

"You know, I just had a sick thought. When the shapeshifter changes shape- maybe it sheds." Lucille nodded at Dean's guess.

"It- It molts," she said, pulling her hand away from her mouth.

Sam shook his head. "That is sick." Dean put the string of hair back on the ground.

Sam's cell phone rang in his back pocket, startling Lucille.

"This is Sam," he said as he put the phone to his ear. He looked between Dean and Lucille as the person on the other end asked something.

We're, uh, near Zack's, we're just checkin' some things out," he said, glancing around the dim tunnel in distaste. Lucille stifled a laugh. His expression quickly turned to concern as they said something else.

"What are you talkin' about?" He scoffed at the response. "Why would you do that?"

"Beck-" Oh, _that_ was who he was talking to. _This conversation_ , Lucille thought.

His face grew panicked, then apologetic as he was cut off. "We're tryin' to help."

"Beck, I'm sorry, but-" He was interrupted once again, then the call cut off. Sam looked disappointed as Dean walked up to him.

"I hate to say it, but that's exactly what I'm talkin' about. You lie to your friends because if they knew the real you, they'd be freaked. It's just- it'd be easier if-"

"If I was like you," Sam finished, narrowing his eyes at his brother. Lucille bit her lip and frowned.

"Hey, man, like it or not, we are not like other people. But I'll tell you one thing. This whole gig- it ain't without perks." He held up the shiny gun.

"Dean _Winchester_ ," Lucille scolded her idol. "Don't tell your brother he can't have friends! Even if it does include a _gun._ " She began walking down the tunnel, stepping over the slimy pile of human skin and blood. Echoing footsteps told her that the brothers were following, and they walked through the sewer in silence.

"I think we're close to its lair," Dean said eventually, having taken the lead a while back. Lucille and Sam paused, silence filling the underground passage.

"Why do you say that?" asked Sam, glancing at his brother.

"Because there's another puke-inducing pile next to your face." He shone his flashlight on a pipe beside Sam's face and Lucille jumped away from it, disgusted. Another pile of blood and skin was draped over it like a towel on a drying rack. Sam glanced at it briefly before doing a double-take, his face turning to one of revulsion.

"Oh, God!" he said, gagging.

" _Hey_ ," Lucille warned sharply at the usage of her 'Father's' name. They, of course, ignored her, looking around the area and finding a pile of clothes drenched in blood in a corner of the damp tunnel.

"Looks like it's lived here for a while."

"Ah!" Lucille shrieked, her flashlight catching on a face behind Dean. The eyes were white, like they were on Zack in the security feed, except this was an Asian man. "Dean!"

The shifter's hand swung up and caught the older Winchester in the face as he turned before he ran towards the other end of the tunnel. Sam pulled out his gun as his brother fell to the ground, shooting in the general area of the shapeshifter. Lucille covered her ears. Each bullet hit the metal pipes crossing the tunnel, missing the shifter. He and Lucille turned towards Dean, who was standing up shakily and holding his arm.

Gritting his teeth, Dean yelled, "Get the son of a bitch!"

The trio followed the shifter through the tunnels, going only by sound. He was too far ahead to see, so they relied on the echoing footsteps and the rippling of water.

Soon they came to an open manhole, finding a foot disappearing over the top just moments after they get there. Lucille's eyes adjusted quickly to the light pouring in through the hole, and she climbed up the ladder first.

The shifter was long gone by the time she reached the top. She impatiently waited for the Winchesters to follow her up, before covering the manhole back up. She quickly took in her surroundings. They were on a small, raised concrete platform beside a bench in the middle of a park, the manhole in the center of it. A few pedestrians wandered by, but it was still pretty early in the morning. The sun had barely risen, the sky painted in pastel colors.

"He's gone," she said to the brothers.

Sam groaned and looked around. "All right, let's split up."

"All right, I'll meet you around the other side," agreed Dean, taking off away from Sam. Lucille stuck with the younger Winchester, clinging to his side as they took off down the street. His hand was tucked inside his jacket, resting on his gun, while Lucille was ready to pull out the angel blade at a moment's notice.

She had found that the blade sort of stuck to her skin and moved with her. It was like it latched onto her, but she could will it into her hand. It was like there was nothing there when you felt the outside of her sleeve. She still wasn't sure how that worked.

"Probably a really _stupid_ idea," she muttered to herself about splitting up. She pulled her arms in tight around her self-consciously as they made their way through the crowd, although her head was held high. Eventually the hoards of people thinned until there were only a couple passerbyers now and then, and, not having found the shifter, Lucille and Sam waited on a street corner for Dean.

"Hey," Lucille heard from behind her. Sam turned towards him but Lucille stayed still, observing the cars passing down the street. "Anything?"

"No. He's gone," Sam responded. Lucille pulled her white fedora lower over her head and hugged her arms around her leather-clad torso. It was still cold outside.

"All right, let's get back to the car," Dean said. Lucille forced her legs into a longer stride to keep up with Sam's large gait as they crossed the street. She glanced back over her shoulder at Dean, who had stopped for a passing car. Her eyes widened as she caught a glimpse of his- the irises were glowing a light silver, almost white. Her breath caught in her throat as she turned back to Sam, praying that the shifter hadn't seen her looking at him. She stepped closer to him as 'Dean' caught up to them, once again hoping the shifter didn't notice. They made their way back to the Impala in silence, Lucille's hands tapping nervously at her sides.

"You think he found another way underground?" asked Sam as they stopped beside the car. Lucille turned back towards the shifter, confusion spreading across her face when she found his eyes were still silver. _How the_ fuck _does Sam not see that?_

"Yeah, probably. You got the keys?" Sam stopped and thought for a moment before turning towards the shapeshifter. He didn't seem to notice the eyes.

"Hey, didn't Dad once face a shapeshifter in San Antonio?"

"Oh, that was Austin. It turned out not to be a shapeshifter, it was a thought form. A psychic projection. Remember?" 'Dean' responded confidently, smirking. _How does he know that?_ Lucille thought. _Right. They pick up the memories of however they turn into._

"Oh, right." Sam laughed and shook his head. "Here ya go." He tossed the keys to the shapeshifter, whose left hand swung up to grab them. The shapeshifter opened the trunk and looked over the weapons, a broad smile growing across his face. "Don't move!" The shapeshifter and Lucille, who had been closely watching the monster, both turned to see Sam pointing the gun loaded with silver bullets at him. "What have you done with him?" he questioned 'Dean'. Lucille quickly stepped away from the shifter towards Sam, the angel blade slipping into her hand.

"Dude, chill. It's me, all right?" The shifter smiled nervously.

"No, I don't think so. Where's my brother?"

"You're about to shoot him. Sam, calm down." Lucille looked between the two, surprised that Sam hadn't shot him yet.

" _Sam_ , do it. It's a shifter. His eyes- I can see them, they're white. Like in the video feed." She spoke confidently, although inside she was panicking with confusion. The shifter looked at her, probably just as surprised as she was that she could see them.

"C'mon, man, who're you gonna believe- your brother, or some kid we picked up off the street?" Sam's eyes narrowed.

"You caught those keys with your left. Your shoulder was hurt," he said, providing more proof.

"Sam, just _shoot him_!" she urged the man. He hesitated briefly, then shot him one, two, three times. The shots rang out loud in the crisp morning air, and Lucille glanced around to make sure no civilians were watching. The shapeshifter's eyes seemed to glow brighter as he fell back, a strangled cry in his throat.

"Hey, Sam. You okay?" she asked him, seeing his distressed face. He looked up and quickly cleared his throat.

"Yeah, yeah," he replied unconvincingly.

"Well?" Lucille prompted. "Let's go find your _real_ brother. He's not dead, don't worry. The shifter has to keep him alive to stay in that form." She walked to the dead body and frowned at its likeness to Dean. She pried the keys away from his hand and tossed them to Sam. She closed the weapons compartment in the trunk before hooking her arms under his shoulders and lifting him inside. It wasn't actually that much different from dragging her brother around while was sleeping, aside from the blood seeping across his shirt. _That_ was pretty gross.

* * *

"So how did you see his eyes? I thought you lost all of your angel mojo when you fell, and that definitely wasn't a human thing." Sam asked from the passenger seat of the Impala. They had found Dean easily- apparently the shapeshifter had captured him and tied him up in some basement. He escaped and was on his way to Rebecca's house to make sure nothing happened to her when they picked him up. Sam explained everything to Rebecca- she didn't believe him at first, but showing her the dead body in the trunk and comparing it with the very much alive Dean seemed to do the trick. They had gotten Zack and the other guy out of jail by calling in an anonymous tip about the lair and leaving the body there.

"Honestly? I don't know," she admitted. She looked out the back window of the car and turned the angel blade in her hands. "I- never mind."

"Now, hold on a minute- she could see his _eyes_? What's that supposed to mean?" Dean questioned. Lucille bit her lip and slipped the angel blade back into her sleeve.

"You know how his eyes flash in cameras? It was sort of like that, but his eyes stayed like that. It wasn't just a quick flash," she informed the older Winchester.

"Alright, so maybe you still got some of your angel mojo left. Who knows?" he said nonchalantly.

"How is that a 'Who knows?'" she said incredulously. "I just discovered that I can see supernatural things. I might have powers. I- I-" She paused, remembering to keep up with her cover story. "I fell, Winchester. I shouldn't have powers."


	9. Alone in the Bunker

**Alone in the Bunker**

 **Kind of a filler chapter to explain a bunch of shit**

 **Foreshadowing is fun**

 **Now I present you: An extremely short chapter on whatever the** _ **FUCK**_ **she does in her free time**

Lucille looked up at the knock on her open bedroom door. Dean leaned against her door jam, looking her over carefully. He had been kind of on edge around her ever since her outburst a few days ago.

"Hey, Feathers," he said. "We found a case. Ankeny, Iowa. Some sort of invisible killer. You coming?" She shook her head and looked down and her hands, swinging her feet over the edge of the bed.

"Nah, I'll stay here. You know, research, and, uh… stuff." She trailed off and picked at her long nails.

"Dean?" she said as he turned away. He looked back over his shoulder questioningly. "Any luck with your dad?"

They were still in the search for John. He hadn't contacted them yet, but they had their phones on them at all times.

"Nothing," he replied. "Not sure he wants to be found." He began walking away before turning back again. He pulled something out of his jacket pocket and tossed it onto the bed beside Lucille.

"It's yours. So we can contact you," he said before finally leaving. She looked down at the object- it was a small flip phone. She opened it and quickly figured out how to navigate it. Sam and Dean's numbers were already in her contacts, she noted. She checked the time on the phone- it was almost time for lunch. Sighing, she stood up and crossed the room to the small closet. Most of her clothes were in there by now. She pulled a flannel shirt over her black tank top and then her brown leather jacket over that. She slipped her feet into a pair of black combat boots and grabbed a crossbody purse. Her hand reached out and snagged the angel blade off the desk as passed it, slipping it up her sleeve.

She walked out of her room after shoving a couple things into the bag and slinging it over her shoulder. Both the new phone and her phone from 2018 were in it, along with a small sketchbook and a pencil. She noted that both boys were already gone.

"Alright," she muttered to herself, wandering around the bunker. "Where would the Men of Letters have put their money?"

The bunker was set up so that once you went down the main hallway from the 'Bat Cave', you could either go left or right. She hadn't explored the bunker very much yet, so she decided now was a good time to do it. So far she had only been down the left wing, which held all of the bedrooms. There were a lot of those. She knew somewhere there was a kitchen, but she hadn't bothered to find it. Dean usually cooked something to eat, and she just used the bathroom sink for water. She wandered into the other hallway and opened the first door on her left. It was filled with books and boxes of artifacts- nothing of much use to her as of now. The next few rooms were the same.

The fourth room on the right, she found, had a large safe. It looked like any ordinary safe- no extra magical protection or fancy locks. She walked towards it cautiously.

"What the…" It was opened slightly, like someone had been getting something from it before leaving in a rush. She hesitantly pulled it open and gaped at what was inside. The safe, about as tall as she was, was almost filled to the brim with stacks of bills. The green paper covered the entire bottom of the safe.

" _Wow,_ this is clichè," she muttered. "It's almost like I'm in a tv show. Oh, _wait,"_ she said sarcastically, gazing into the empty room towards where she imagined a camera would be. She hastily grabbed a small wad of cash and shoved it in her purse before exiting the room and making her way back to the entrance of the bunker.

Breathing in deeply as she stepped into the fresh air, she began walking down the street towards the grocery store. They were running low on food in the bunker, and the Winchesters were out hunting, so she would have to restock. She shrugged off her jacket as soon as she was inside the market, tying it around her waist.

She wandered aimlessly through the aisles after grabbing a basket from the front, pulling random items off the shelf as they caught her eye. Eventually, she wound up in the candy aisle, reaching for a large bag of assorted candy on the top shelf. She huffed as she couldn't reach it, falling back onto her heels.

"I will smite you, bitch," she muttered at the candy, glaring pointlessly at the inanimate object. She jumped back in surprise as it suddenly tumbled off the shelf, landing on the ground at her feet. She looked around suspiciously, finding nobody else in the aisle, before picking it up.

" _Okay,_ then," she whistled lowly under her breath. Adding it to the nearly overflowing basket gripped in her hand, she paid quickly and walked back to the bunker. She tossed the three bags full of food on the table in the middle of the 'Bat Cave' and twisted the cap off of a small Coke. She took a swig of the bubbly drink before digging the candy out of one of the bags and bringing it with her to her room.

She threw her bag onto the bed before sitting down at the desk. Opening the bag of candy, she dumped it all out onto the wooden surface and began sorting them out. Soon each type of the assortment of candy was in a separate pile, and she grabbed a butterscotch Dum Dum. She peeled the wrapper off and popped the lollipop in her mouth before going back to her bed.

It wasn't until around six that she heard from the Winchesters. Her head popped up from her sketchbook in confusion at the unfamiliar ringtone, before her eyes widened and she scrambled for the flip phone. Caller ID told her it was Dean, and she quickly answered the call.

"Dean?"

"Hey, Feathers. You said that the… angels kept track of popular myths, right? Like the Bloody Mary case?" She paused, trying to remember what she had said.

"Uh, yeah. We did. Why?"

"What do you know about the Hook Man legend? I mean, is there any truth behind it?" Lucille frowned thoughtfully, tapping her pencil against the desk. She had rewatched the episode, along with the next few, a while ago, but couldn't remember the details.

"Um… can I get back to you on that? I mean, I know it's real or whatever, but I can't remember the specifics. Call you back in half an hour? Gives me time to think," she requested.

"Sounds good," Dean replied, hanging up.

"Bye," she muttered sarcastically as the line went dead. "Okay…"

She quickly found the Supernatural Wiki page on the Hook Man. As it turned out, basically everything on her phone worked except texting, calling, emailing, and social media. So she had no way to contact her family or friends, but at least she had up-to-date information on Supernatural. She wrote down every important point about the myth in orderly notes on one of the pages in an empty Men of Letters journal before calling Dean back. She relayed the information to him, then deciding that she was done for the day.

* * *

"But what if I really _do_ have powers?" Lucille wondered to herself early the next morning. "That would be cool. Unlikely, but cool." She narrowed her eyes and looked at the pencil across the table in the Bat Cave. She snapped her fingers, as if expecting it to appear in her hands. She couldn't help but feel a little dejected when nothing happened.

"Ugh, I'm _bored_!" she yelled at the top of her lungs to the empty bunker. A quiet echo of her words was the only response. She rolled her eyes and wandered over to the bookshelves that lined the walls.

"You know, Gabriel, I wouldn't mind if you came to visit. From what I can tell, your pretty frickin' fun," she prayed aloud. She scowled at the lack of an answer. "Gabriel- the angel who just wanted peace… You know what? Pedicabo ego vos, _Gabe_." It was Latin- _Fuck you_.

"What about you, Castiel? The angel who fell- or, at least, _will_ fall." She muttered the last part under her breath, as if it would prevent him hearing it. If he was even listening. "You're a good little soldier, Cas. Only loyal to the garrison. Not for long. You'll see."

She wasn't really sure what she was doing at this point. It wasn't like any of them would hear these prayers, but it was fun to imagine. Even if they did hear them, they probably wouldn't pay them any attention. Still…

"Michael. Mike, Mikey…" She grimaced. "Yeah, I really don't have anything good to say about you. You're kind of an asshole. Full offense," she added as an afterthought. Who else?

"Uh… Oh! Right. Balthazar. You know what?" Her voice rose so she was once again shouting. "My heart will go on!" She was referencing the famous Celine Dion song that Balthazar hated so much.

"Ooh!" she squealed, easily distracted. She found an old record player on top of a short bookshelf. She was surprised she hadn't noticed it sooner- it was big, and clunky. On the bookshelf she found and stack of old records, all released before the 1950's. She crinkled her nose at the shoddy selection, already deciding how she was going to spend the day.

* * *

"Wow," was all she said an hour later, stepping into a shop full of everything music. It was a big shop, with everything from guitars to cassette tapes to band posters. A few people were milling about, inspecting the different items.

"Need any help?" a girl standing behind the counter asked. Lucille looked her over, deciding she looked friendly enough. Dark hair, deep red lipstick, blue plaid shirt. Probably in her late teens.

"Uh, yeah, actually. Where might I find the vinyls?" she asked, smiling brightly. The girl smiled back and pointed towards the opposite end of the store.

"Just back there."

"Thanks," Lucille called over her shoulder as she made her way to the racks of records. They made up a rather large portion of the store, she noted. It didn't take long for her to find some of her favorites, plus some she know Dean would approve of. She bought a total of ten vinyls, which cost a _lot_. Luckily, she had the Men of Letters' money at her disposal.

She quickly chose one of the vinyls when she got home and figured out how the _Hell_ the record player worked. She grinned triumphantly when Foo Fighters' _Everlong_ filled the room.

"I am officially _not_ a failure," she said quietly, smiling. Bobbing her head to the beat, Lucille wandered around the room. Her hand trailed along the spines of the large books along the wall as she walked. She shrieked suddenly as she stumbled forwards, landing sprawled on the floor.

" _Ow_ ," she groaned as she sat up. On second thought, she laid back down on the floor and relaxed. Eventually, she put her hands flat on the floor behind her head and pushed upwards into a bridge to stretch. She finally stood up and thought back to her 'praying' earlier that day.

"Who didn't I mention? I did Cas, Gabe, B, Mike…" she wondered aloud. She could name a lot of angels, but it was a bit harder to concentrate with _Monkey Wrench_ playing. "That sounded wrong. There's Raphael and Lucifer, Ezekiel, Gadreel, Metatron," she shuddered, "and- oh! Samandriel!" She grinned broadly. He was her fourth favorite angel, right after Gabriel, Castiel, and Lucifer. She sat down in one of the many chairs around the war table and folded her hands on the table, looking towards the ceiling.

"Samandriel… You're adorable. Really! You're one of my favorite angels, you know. _Heaven's most adorable angel…_ I hope I get the chance to meet you one day." She paused, debating whether or not it was a good idea to pray to Lucifer. _Sure, why not?_ she thought sarcastically. Now she looked at the floor instead and laughed.

"Hey, Luce! My name's Lucille, kinda close to your name. So, um, when- sorry, _if_ , you get out of the Cage, would you mind, you know, _not smiting me_? That would be greatly appreciated." She could almost hear the confusion in Heaven when a fourteen year old girl knows a bunch of their names, much less prayed to them. Especially since she was praying to _Lucifer,_ of all people. Plus the amount of sass and disrespect she spoke with.

She quickly got tired of _The Colour and the Shape_ and switched it out with another vinyl. Soon _Blue Hawaii_ by Elvis Presley filled the room in the Foo Fighters' place and she frowned, biting her lip. Oh. _This_ song. Why did she buy this one again?

"Wise men say," she sang quietly, trying not to think about the traumatic experience that was Twist and Shout. She wasn't necessarily a good singer, but it wasn't like anyone else could hear her. "Only fools rush in."

"Yeah, no, I'm done," she said, walking out of the room. She peered into Dean's room as she passed it, noting the amount of decoration he had put into it, then comparing it to her room. She had nowhere _near_ as much. Her walls were all blank, and her desk was next to bare. She decided to fix that with the time left in the day.

Humming at the faint music coming down the hall, she set to work. She couldn't put any Supernatural posters up because there would be a lot of questions asked(if she had any, that is), but she could at least hang up her drawings. Soon there were rows of pages carefully ripped from her sketchbook lining the walls. She nodded in appreciation of the art before flipping to a new page in her sketchbook and starting another doodle.

* * *

Later that night she continued exploring the bunker. She found a set of stairs that led down to a firing range. She had never fired a gun in her life and wasn't about to start now, at least not with proper supervision. Which, of course, she didn't have. Through a door on the end of the firing range she found a training area. It had _everything_ \- gymnastics, sword fighting, _archery,_ and _more_. She was amazed. Now _that_ she could handle.

She pulled the angel blade from her sleeve after messing around with the gymnastics equipment. She gave an experimental wave through the air with it. It felt odd- it didn't feel like it was a dagger, but more like it was an extension of her arm. There was a kind of energy buzzing through it too.

Jabbing it towards one of the sword fighting dummies, she was surprised to see that it passed through the fabric easily. She pulled the blade back out of the dummy's shoulder and tried slashing in a motion that, with the right weapon, would have chopped the head clean off. This, however did not. It was a stabby weapon, not a choppy weapon. Noted.

Instead, she tried slicing it across the chest. Apparently it was also a slicey weapon, as it created a long incision in the fabric from which stuffing poked out.

She continued trashing the dummy for the next hour before getting tired. It was almost completely wrecked by the time she was done.

* * *

She didn't hear from the Winchesters again until a couple of days later.

"Hey," she greeted Sam over the phone.

"Hey. the spirit was attached to the necklace, just like you said. Thanks, by the way," he responded. She smiled proudly, even though he couldn't see it.

"So it's dead? You're on your way back?" she asked hopefully. It had gotten rather boring sitting in the bunker by herself all day.

"Yeah, we'll be there in around five hours."

"'Kay, see you then," she said, hanging up. She groaned tiredly and popped a grape Jolly Rancher in her mouth. It was eight in the morning, and she had just woken up ten minutes ago.

Almost exactly five hours later, as promised, Sam and Dean walked into the bunker. Lucille jumped up from the table as the door opened.

"Hey!" she greeted brightly. "How'd the hunt go?"

Dean looked at her strangely. "Why're _you_ so _peppy_?"

She contemplated the question for a moment before deciding on an answer. "Candy."


	10. Ooh, Bugs!

**Ooh, Bugs!**

 **I hate this episode. So. Much. Did you know that the actor of Samandriel(aka Heaven's Most Adorable Angel) is in this episode? Only reason I even considered rewatching this episode. Sorry for the Twist and Shout reference last chapter, I'm still upset over it Tbh Aug. 1s** **t is my goto birthday for characters, idk why, but I am determined to make her birthday NOT August 1st**

Lucille refrained from actually going on any hunts for the next few months. She generally stayed back and did research- which, without having an episode based on each hunt, was a lot harder than it looked. She spent most of her free time finishing watching the rest of Supernatural, which messed with her head a bit. For example, she half expected thin black veins to be creeping up Sam's neck when she started season 11.

Christmas came and went uneventfully, as the boys had both been out on a hunt at the time. Lucille now knew a lot more about the supernatural than she ever thought she would due to the amount of free time she had to read in the bunker.

Sam, at last, found the case that corresponded with the next episode. He found it in a newspaper article from Oasis Plains, Oklahoma.

"A gas company employee, Dustin Burwash, supposedly died from Creutzfeldt-Jakob," he said as he read the paper.

"What the _fuck_ does that mean?" Lucille asked incredulously. She met Dean's glare evenly, both refusing to back down.

"Language," he warned before looking back towards Sam. She smiled triumphantly and turned her attention the the younger Winchester as well.

"Human mad cow disease," he responded. Dean looked thoughtful for a moment.

"Mad cow. Wasn't that on Oprah?" Lucille let out a short burst of laughter before slapping a hand over her mouth. She had to bite her lip to stop giggling.

"You watch _Oprah_?" Sam asked incredulously. Dean, obviously embarrassed, looked down and quickly changed the subject.

"So this guy eats a bad burger. Why is it our kind of thing?" he asked his brother. Sam looked rather exasperated, while Lucille's face mirrored Dean's until she remembered what episode it was. She could kind of remember what had happened this episode, but it was a little fuzzy. It had, after all, been quite a while since she watched it.

He sighed. "Mad cow disease causes massive brain degeneration. It takes months, even years, for the damage to appear. But this guy, Dustin? Sounds like his brain disintegrated in about an hour. Maybe less."

"Okay, that's weird," Dean admitted.

"Yeah. Now, it could be a disease. _Or,_ it could be somethin' much nastier."

"All right. Oklahoma. Man. Work, work, work. No time to spend my money," Dean complained.

"Not your money," Lucille reminded him. She had shown them the safe as soon as they had gotten back from the last hunt, and now Dean was determined to spend as much money as possible. It seemed like there was a limitless supply.

Fifteen minutes later they left for Oasis Plains, Oklahoma. Then six hours after _that,_ they arrived at their destination. They were outside a large office building with a big sign that read 'Oklahoma Gas & Power Co.' They got out of the Impala and crossed the parking lot, greeting a man with thick brown hair.

"Travis Weaver?" The man looked up and smiled.

"Yeah, that's right."

"Are you the Travis who worked with Uncle Dusty?" Dean asked.

"Dustin never mentioned nephews, or a niece," Travis said in confusion.

Dean looked surprised. "Really? Well, he sure mentioned you."

"He said you were the greatest!" Lucille chimed in. She grinned at seeing how Travis looked so ecstatic at the compliments.

"Yeah," the younger Winchester agreed. Travis smiled even wider and looked down bashfully.

"Oh, he did? Huh."

Dean's voice suddenly became a lot more gentle, being used to talking to people who had just suffered a loss. "Listen, we wanted to ask you... what exactly happened out there?"

Travis' smile dropped and his brows furrowed. "I'm not sure. He fell in a sinkhole, I went to the truck to get some rope, and, uh… by the time I got back…"

"What did you see?" Dean asked tentatively. Travis looked down sadly.

"Nothin'. Just Dustin."

Sam quickly stepped into the conversation. "No wounds or anything?"

"Well, he was bleeding... from his eyes and his ears, his nose. But that's it." His brows knitted together, a sign that he was distressed by the conversation.

"So you think it could be this whole mad cow thing?" Dean asked. Travis shrugged.

"I don't know. That's what the doctors are sayin'."

Sam frowned. "But if it was, he would've acted strange beforehand, like dementia, loss of motor control. You ever notice anything like that?" he asked.

"No. No way. But then again, if it wasn't some disease, what the hell was it?" He scoffed lightly and Lucille barely resisted being a smartass.

"That's a good question," Dean agreed. She could tell he also wanted to say something else.

"You know, can you tell us where this happened?" Sam asked the other man. He nodded.

"Yeah." He quickly gave them directions to the construction site. They thanked him and left for the address he had given them.

They pulled up to a house that was in the process of being built. There was a large square of dirt sectioned off by yellow caution tape, which the trio completely ignored. In the middle of the square was a large hole in the ground, with roots crossing through it in a sort of web.

"Huh. What do you think?" asked Dean, leaning over the sinkhole. Lucille remained standing, not willing to get her outfit dirty. It probably seemed a bit vain, but it was white. She couldn't risk it.

"I don't know," Sam responded. "But if that guy, Travis, was right, it happened pretty damn fast." Dean clicked on a flashlight and shone it into the hole curiously.

"So, what? Some sort of creature chewed on his brain?" Lucille bit her lip, trying to remember what had happened. It was some sort of Native American curse, maybe.

"No, there'd be an entry wound. Sounds like this thing worked from the inside." Sam, with all his knowledge, responded.

Huh. Looks like there's only room for one. Alright Feathers, you're up," Dean said. She scoffed and crossed her arms.

"Uh, no." She pointed at her skirt. "White." Dean rolled his eyes and turned to his brother.

"You wanna flip a coin?" Sam looked at his brother incredulously.

"Dean, we have _no_ idea what's down there."

Dean shrugged and passed under the yellow tape, picking up a nearby coil of rope.

"All right, I'll go if you're scared. You scared?" Sam scowled at the accusation, pulling the rope from him. Lucille snickered at his defensiveness.

"Flip the damn coin." Dean chuckled and took a coin out of his pocket, which Lucille then took from him.

"I'm flipping the coin," she declared. "Call it in the air." She flipped the coin and leant back as Sam's hand flew in front of her face to catch it.

"I'm going," he said in an absolute tone. Dean held up his hands defensively.

"I said I'd go." Sam glared at him.

"I'm going."

Dean smirked and put his hands down, shrugging. "Alright."

Lucille helped Sam tighten the rope around his waist before stepping back.

"Don't drop me," he warned his brother.

* * *

They left later with no clear destination in mind. Lucille guessed that they were probably just going to a motel to do more research. Sam had found a few small beetles in the sinkhole, but that was it.

"So you found some beetles. In a hole, in the ground. That's _shocking_ , Sam." Dean spoke with so much sarcasm Lucille could almost feel it in the air.

"There were no tunnels, no tracks. No evidence of any other kind of creature down there. You know, some beetles _do_ eat meat. Now, it's usually dead meat, but-"

"How many did you find down there?" Dean said, interrupting his brother. Lucille held up the small bug resting in her palm and looked closely at it.

"Ten," he answered. Lucille's brows furrowed as she contemplated the answer.

"Exactly?" Sam glanced over his shoulder to Lucille in the backseat and nodded. "Huh."

"It'd take a whole lot more than that to eat out some dude's brain," Dean argued.

"Well, maybe there were more," countered Sam, sweeping his hair out of his eyes. Lucille made a mental note to get him the haircut from the later seasons.

"I don't know, it sounds like a stretch to me."

"Y'know, we don't really have much info. Stuff like this might've happened here before," Lucille chimed in. She glanced out the window as they passed a sign for an open house, red balloons floating above it. It looked like Dean saw it too, judging by how he turned around in his seat to look at it as it grew smaller behind them.

"What?" asked Sam, confused at their seemingly random actions- they looked like dogs watching a squirrel from the kitchen window.

"Squirrel!" Lucille barked sarcastically, before quickly returning to her previously calm manner.

Ignoring the younger girl, Dean said, "I know a good place to start." Another sign in front of them read, 'Models Open. New Buyers' BBQ Today!' "I'm kinda hungry for a little barbeque, how 'bout you?" Sam gave him a knowing look, to which he responded defensively. "What, we can't talk to the locals?"

"And the free food's got nothin' to do with it?" asked Sam suspiciously. Lucille laughed quietly at Dean's face.

"Of course not. I'm a professional," Dean scoffed.

"Right," said Sam, unconvinced, as they got out of the car. They walked the rest of the way down the street to the open house.

Growin' up in a place like this would freak me _out_ ," stated Dean as they paused at the end of the driveway, taking in the house.

"Why?" Lucille and Sam asked at the same time.

"Well, manicured lawns, "How was your day, honey?" I'd blow my brains out!" he exclaimed. Lucille frowned- that was what her life had been like before… There wasn't anything bad about, and it seemed like Sam had the same thoughts.

"There's nothing wrong with 'normal'," he said, a defensive edge to his voice.

Dean shook his head. "I'd take our family over normal any day."

"Alright, c'mon, Winchesters," Lucille interrupted, taking each of their wrists and leading them to the door. She knocked on the white wooden door, quickly adopting a friendly, 'I'm an innocent little teenage' look. A clean shaven man opened the door and smiled.

"Welcome!"

"This the barbeque?" Dean asked, cutting right to the chase.

The man leaned out of the door and peered into the gray sky. "Yeah, not the best weather, but... I'm Larry Pike, the developer here. And you are…?" He trailed off, a question in his voice.

"Dean. This is Sam." They shook hands.

"Lucille," she said when Larry looked at her. She shook his hand as well.

Larry addressed the two oldest of their little trio. "Good to meet you! So, you two are interested in Oasis Plains?" Dean nodded.

"Yes, sir."

"Let me just say - we accept homeowners of any race, religion, color, or…" He paused, looking between them. "sexual orientation." Lucille laughed at Sam and Dean's expressions as they realized what he was trying to say.

"We're brothers," Dean quickly assured him. The man seemed embarrassed, looking down.

"Our father is getting on in years, and we're just lookin' for a place for him," Sam informed him. Lucille smiled and nodded in agreement.

"Great, great. Well, seniors are welcome, too. Come on in," he said, stepping to the side to let them in. He led them to the backyard, where a mass of people were walking around, chatting and eating.

"You said you were the developer?" asked Sam, looking around the backyard.

"Eighteen months ago, I was walking this valley with my survey team. There was nothing here but scrub brush and squirrels. And you know what, we built such a nice place to live that I actually bought into it myself. This is our house. We're the first family in Oasis Plains."

Lucille smiled. "Nice story," she said dryly, walking away as the boys continued to talk to the homeowner.

Suddenly she froze, a face catching her eye. "Samandriel?" she asked in surprise. The boy turned to face her, confused.

"Huh?" Oh. Was he… Samandriel's vessel, maybe? He was a little taller than her, and probably only a couple years older. He wore khakis, with a button-up shirt, open over a black tee.

"Uh, nothing," she said quickly, blushing at the mistake. He turned away, smiling excitedly at something on the table in front of them. Sam stood next to it, talking to a woman. A tarantula crawled towards the woman's hand, and it seemed like Sam noticed it too. Lucille nodded to him, signifying that she would get it. She stepped up behind the woman and let the spider crawl slowly into her hand, before turning back the the boy.

"I believe _this_ ," she said, holding out the spider, "is yours." He took the spider and frowned.

"You gonna tell my dad?" he asked automatically. She raised an eyebrow and grinned.

"Now, why would I do _that_?" He grinned excitedly in return.

"Really? Cool," he said. Lucille followed him as he walked towards the corner of the fence, away from the rest of the people.

"What's your name?" she asked curiously. He glanced over his shoulder at her.

"Matt. Yours?"

"Luci," she responded, shoving her hands in her jacket pockets. "You said something about your dad. Who is he?" Matt scoffed, and Lucille could tell she had stumbled across a sensitive subject.

"Yeah, Larry usually skips me in the family introductions."

"The developer? Wow. And first name basis? _Damn_."

"Well, I'm not exactly brochure material." Lucille frowned.

"He sounds kinda sucky, if you ask me," she said. He laughed.

"Tell me about it," muttered Matt under his breath.

"Matthew," a stern voice behind them said. They both turned to find Matt's dad and Dean walking towards him. "I am so sorry about my son and his… pet," Larry apologized to Lucille, who narrowed her eyes.

"Why would you be sorry? I mean, I'm the one that started talking to him in the first place. If anything, _I_ should be apologizing for being _such_ a nuisance." Larry looked taken aback.

"Excuse us," he said sharply, leading his son away. Lucille stopped Matt with a hand on his shoulder.

"I see what you mean," she whispered quietly to him, smiling, before pulling away and rejoining Sam and Dean as they walked towards the house. She looked over her shoulder towards him to find his eyes fixed on her even as his dad was talking. She smirked slightly and winked at him before turning back towards the Winchesters.

"Alright, what the Hell was that?" Dean asked aggressively as soon as they were in the car.

"What?" said Lucille defensively. Dean twisted around in his seat to look at her. He was letting Sam drive for once, so he was in the passenger seat.

"Oh, you know _what_. What was all that, with th- with the _talking_ , and the _flirti-_ " Lucille cut him off before he could finish his accusation.

"Oh, so now I'm not allowed to talk to boys, is that so?" she asked sarcastically.

"You- you _winked_ at him. That's not _talking_ , that's-" He threw his hands up in place of completing the sentence. Her face flushed pink and she looked down.

"Shut up," she muttered. "I can do what I want."

"Anyway," said Sam, changing the subject, "How was your tour?"

"Oh, it was excellent. I'm ready to buy." Sam laughed and Lucille would've as well, but alas, she wasn't quite done being embarrassed. "So you might be onto somethin'. Looks like Dustin Burwash wasn't the first strange death around here."

"What happened?" Sam asked, glancing across the seat at his brother. Lucille also looked up, curious.

"About a year ago, before they broke ground, one of Larry's surveyors dropped dead while on the job. Get this severe allergic reaction to bee stings." Lucille grimaced. That couldn't have felt good.

"More bugs," said Sam. Dean nodded.

"More bugs," he repeated. Nobody spoke until a few minutes later as the were driving through the neighborhood.

"You know, I've heard of killer bees, but killer beetles? What is it that could make different bugs attack?" Dean said, leafing through their dad's journal.

"Well, hauntings sometimes include bug manifestations," reasoned Sam.

"Yeah, but I didn't see any evidence of ghost activity," countered Dean. Lucille frowned, still trying to remember what it had actually been.

"Yeah, me neither," agreed Sam thoughtfully.

"Maybe a curse? Or someone might be controlling them," Lucille guessed, chewing on her lip.

"You mean, like Willard?" Lucille's brows furrowed at Sam's comment.

"I don't understand that reference, but sure!"

Apparently Dean got it, though. "Yeah, bugs instead of rats."

Sam pondered the idea for a minute. "There are cases of psychic connections between people and animals- elementals, telepaths."

"Yeah, that whole Timmy-Lassie thing." Lucille didn't understand that reference either. Dean thought for a second and seemed to realize something. "Larry's kid, Feathers' boyfriend- he's got bugs for pets." Lucille gaped at him- first at the fact that he called Matt her boyfriend, and second that he actually had the nerve to accuse him of something.

" _Matt_ wouldn't do that," she said, stressing his name. "And he's _not_ my boyfriend."

"I mean, he did try to scare the realtor with a tarantula," Sam said gently, trying not to provoke the beast that was Lucille.

"Sam!" she scolded him. "He's a _teenager_. Of _course_ he's going to pull some stupid prank on people! He's not going to do some creepy witchcraft shit." It seemed like they were done arguing after that.

"Ooh, hey. Pull over here," said Dean, pointing to a house. Sam pulled into the empty driveway of one of the Oasis Plains homes.

"What are we doing here?" Sam asked as Dean got out of the car.

The older Winchester grunted as he lifted up the garage door. "It's too late to talk to anybody else."

"We're gonna squat in an empty house?" questioned Sam, not sounding very surprised.

"I wanna try the steam shower. Come on." He motioned with the hand that wasn't supporting the garage. Sam refused to move. "Come on!"

Reluctantly, Sam pulled the car into the garage, and the garage door fell closed as Dean stepped out from under it with a resounding _crash_.

* * *

The next morning Sam woke Lucille up urgently, saying something about a police call on some scanner and someone being dead. Or at least something like that- her brain wasn't really functioning at the point in the morning. She quickly got dressed while Sam convinced Dean to get out of the shower.

They pulled up outside one of the houses in Oasis Plains where several different emergency vehicles were parked. It was pouring rain, something that Lucille was quite unhappy with. She scowled as they got out of the car, pulling her beanie lower over her head.

"Seriously? You only have two umbrellas?" she complained as the brothers each opened a black umbrella. She quickly ducked under Sam's as soon as it was above his head, clinging as close as possible. She could feel the rumble in his chest as he chuckled lightly, looking down at her. She smiled broadly as the arm not holding the umbrella wrapped around her shoulders.

The trio approached Larry, who was finishing talking to someone on the phone. Lucille glanced over at the body being carried out in a body bag on a stretcher.

"Hello. You're, uh, back early," Larry greeted them. Dean made a show of looking around at the scene.

"Yeah, we just drove in, wanted to take another look at the neighborhood."

"What's goin' on?" asked Sam, also looking around.

"You guys met, uh…" He seemed to choke up just saying her name, glancing over his shoulder at the body. "Lynda Bloome at the barbeque?"

"The realtor," Sam confirmed.

"Well, she, uh… passed away last night." Both Winchesters seemed shocked, but Lucille knew it was just an act. They were accustomed to people dying seemingly out of nowhere.

"What happened?" Dean asked, his expression concerned. Larry shook his head and looked down sadly.

"I'm still tryin' to find out. Identified the body for the police. Look, I- I'm sorry, this isn't a good time now."

"It's okay." Sam smiled reassuringly.

"Excuse me." Larry turned and walked away from them. Dean turned to his brother.

"You know what we have to do, right?"

"Yeah. Get in that house."

"See if we got a bug problem," Dean said, walking around to the side of the house as the emergency vehicles drove away with sirens on. The two Winchesters helped Lucille up onto the top of the tall wooden fence, her being much too short to do it herself, before following her up. They quickly pried open the bedroom window and swung into the crime scene.

Sam and Lucille knelt down next to the outline of Lynda's dead body on the carpet. Small splatters of blood surrounded it, as well as sharp shards of glass.

"I thought they only did this in movies," she said skeptically.

"This looks like the place." Dean walked past her into the bathroom and she looked up as he shook out a towel laying on the floor. He dropped it as soon as he realized it was covered in dead spiders. "Spiders. From Spider Boy?"

"His _name_ is Matt," Lucille said irritatedly. "And I _highly_ doubt that they're from him."

"Right, 'cause your boyfriend could never do _anything_ wrong," mocked Dean. He stood and brushed off his pants. "Look at the facts, Feathers. Maybe he's not as perfect as you think." Lucille's lips curled back in an instinctive, animalistic expression. Dean's gaze met her's evenly.

"I _don't_ think he's perfect..." she muttered, backing down.

* * *

The Impala slowed to a stop across the street from a yellow school bus. The trio watched as Matt hopped off the bus and began walking down towards the woods.

"Isn't his house that way?" asked Dean, pointing in the opposite direction.

"Yup," confirmed Sam.

"So where's he goin'?" Dean asked suspiciously. The Winchester's began getting out of the car, but Lucille leaned over the backseat and grabbed both of their wrists.

"Let me," she said shortly, climbing out. She turned around to face the Impala and walked backwards into the forest, waving goodbye once.

It didn't take long to catch up to the older boy. He had stopped a little ways into the cluster of trees, having found a long insect crawling up a low tree branch. In one hand he held a small container for bugs, the small creature resting on the other.

"Hey, Matt. What'd you find?" she asked, grinning. He glanced at her briefly before holding up the bug.

"Grasshopper. What are you doin' out here?" Lucille shrugged, leaning closer to examine the bug.

"Saw you coming out here, didn't have anything better to do," she lied. "My brothers were being dumb.

"Did you hear what happened to Lynda, the realtor?" she asked, making a show of looking around to see if anyone else was listening. Which, of course, was pointless, because they were in the middle of the woods.

Matt looked down like he was reluctant to answer, but he sounded pretty uninterested when he replied. "I hear she died this morning."

"Yeah. Spider bites! Can you believe it? I hear there's a lot of insect attacks in this area. Anything I should be worried about?" she asked in a teasing tone.

He hesitated, like he was about to tell her a big secret. "There is somethin' going on here. I don't know what, but something's happening with the insects. Let me show you something." He picked up his bag and swung it over his shoulder. Lucille followed him down to another area, talking as they walked.

"Did you try telling your dad about all the bugs? Maybe he could, you know, clear the people out," she suggested, shoving her hands in her pockets.

Matt scoffed. "Believe me, I've tried. But, uh, _Larry_ doesn't listen to me."

"Huh." Lucille looked down. "Why not?" she asked curiously.

"Mostly?" He glanced at her. "He's too disappointed in his freak son." Lucille frowned, her resent for the kid's dad growing.

" _Seriously?_ Wow." She whistled lowly. "You gonna go to college when you're eighteen?"

Matt didn't hesitate in his answer. "Yeah. As soon as I can."

"Cool. So, where are we going now?" she questioned, stepping over a fallen tree branch.

"You'll see. We're close." A few minutes later, the trees opened up to show a large clearing. The sounds of hundreds of different insects could be heard among the trees, and Lucille could see some sort of mound of grass or dirt in the middle of the clearing.

"I've been keeping track of insect populations. It's, um, part of an AP science class." Lucille looked around inquisitively, trying to figure out what was so special about the place.

"What's been happening?"

"A lot," he said. "I mean, from bees to earthworms, beetles… you name it. It's like they're congregating here."

"You know why?" she inquired. He shook his head, brows furrowed.

"Nope." Lucille crossed the open area and walked to a dark patch of grass.

"What's this?" She stepped back after discovering it a pile composed of hundreds of writhing earthworms. Matt walked over and looked at as well. Lucille quickly found a small stick and prodded the pile, which sort of caved in. Digging deeper, she found it hit something hard. She frowned and bit her lip.

"There's something down there," she declared. She thought for a moment before standing up. "I'll be right back." She ran back in the direction that they came without waiting for a response. She quickly found her way back to the Impala and knocked on the driver side door.

Dean rolled down the window and stuck his head out. "What, your boyfriend tried to murder you with bugs?" he asked, smirking. She rolled her eyes.

"No, and he's not my _boyfriend_. There's a shovel in the back, right? Cool. Don't ask," she said as Dean opened his mouth. "No time." She circled around the car and flung the trunk open, propping open the false bottom. She quickly found a collapsible shovel amidst the random weapons and slammed the trunk closed. "I'll be back in a bit, Mom!" she called sarcastically over her shoulder, dashing back to the clearing.

Matt was still there, sitting on the ground beside the pile of earthworms.

"Ta da!" said Lucille, holding up the shovel. She extended it to its full length and cautiously walked closer to the hole. She began carefully excavating the worms to uncover what was underneath. Once enough were out she knelt beside the hole and reached into it after rolling up her sleeves, pulling out a dirt covered skull. She quickly realized what it was and tossed it away in disgusted horror. She glanced over at Matt, who was still staring at it with wide eyes. She grinned shakily.

"Want to see if there's more?" Matt gaped at her and she held up her hands defensively.

"What? It's a cool discovery!" Instead of reaching into the hole again she picked up the shovel and pried another skull out of the hole. Peering in, it looked like there were only a couple more.

"Wha- That's a skull!" he exclaimed. She rolled her eyes as she pulled the rest of the human skulls out with the shovel.

"Excellent deduction, my dear Watson," she said in a posh British accent. "I'm going to see if my… brothers will find someone who can tell us when they're from," explained Lucille. She pulled off her jacket and wrapped the skulls in it, leaving her in a long sleeve flannel shirt and a tank top.

"Oh," Matt said softly. _He's probably still freaked out_ , Lucille thought. _And for good reason, too_.

"I… should probably go," she said awkwardly. "My, uh… brothers wanted to go visit our dad today. So, uh, bye."

"Wait!" She turned back and Matt pressed a piece of paper into her hand. "Bye." She blushed heavily and smiled nervously before turning back around, walking away.

 _Oh my_ Chuck, _I'm such a failure. Ugh, I probably sounded so stupid! Get it together, Winchester! Did I just call myself a Winchester? Huh._ She groaned at her awkwardness as she trudged back through the woods to the Impala. She didn't say anything as she tossed the shovel in the trunk and slid into the backseat of the car.

"So, what was all that about?" Sam asked with a look of amusement.

"Here," she said, passing the jacket-wrapped bones up. She couldn't see their faces as the unwrapped them, but she guessed they were both surprised and revolted by the way they leaned away from it.

* * *

Lucille started at the quiet sound of the car doors opening. She had been drifting asleep just as the Winchesters left the department of anthropology at the local university. She hadn't gotten much sleep the night before, mostly due to Dean's insistence on exploring the entire house that they were staying in. Why he wanted to, she wasn't sure.

"Whose bones?" She yawned sleepily as Dean started the car. Sam passed the skulls back to her to set in the backseat. They had exchanged her jacket for a box to contain them, but Lucille refused to put the jacket back on.

"Native American," Dean informed her. She nodded and rubbed her eyes blearily. "You falling asleep?" he asked in amusement. Her demeanor changed almost instantly at the accusation, sitting up straight and putting her hands in her lap.

"No," she said indignantly, stifling another yawn with the back of her hand. She blushed and looked out the window. "Okay, maybe I was. But I'm not now!" she hastily assured them.

"We're heading out to a Euchee tribe in Sapulpa, about sixty miles from here," said Sam seriously, but Lucille could practically hear his smile. She quickly calculated the distance in her head.

"That's about an hour, maybe hour and a half, right? Uh… I take it back. I _am_ going to sleep now. Leave me alone," she said, quickly adopting a mock grumpy attitude. Her eyes met Dean's in the rearview mirror and she fluttered her eyelashes sarcastically.

She woke up when she felt the car slow to a stop. She peered out the window and figured out that they were not, in fact, there yet. They were just asking an old Native American man for directions. She poked Dean's shoulder.

"Tell him I like his hat," she said as obnoxiously as possible. He ignored her and thanked the man, driving away. The parked in front of a diner that looked like it hadn't been in use for at least half a decade. The windows were covered in dust, and the wooden supports appeared ready to collapse. Lucille suspiciously followed the Winchesters inside, avoiding touching the dirt-covered, well, _everything._

They found another Native American man with long silver hair playing cards at a table.

"Joe Whitetree?" asked Sam. The man, Joe, nodded. "We'd like to ask you a few questions, if that's all right."

"We're students from the university, and this is our little sister. She wants to be prepared for when she goes," said Dean, placing a hand and Lucille's shoulder. Joe, who had gone back to playing cards, looked up.

"No, you're not. You're lying." Dean seemed taken aback at the accusation.

He tried again. "Well, truth is-"

Joe glanced up from his cards, speaking over him. "You know who starts sentence with 'truth is'? Liars." Dean exchanged an exasperated look with Sam.

"Have you heard of Oasis Plains? It's a housing development near the Atoka Valley." Joe seemed to approve of what Sam said, turning to Dean.

"I like him. He's not a liar." Dean looked angry. Turning back to Sam, Joe said, "I know the area."

"What can you tell us about the history there?" Joe cocked his head to the side.

"Why do you wanna know?"

Lucille decided it was time to cut in. "There's something happening down there. We think it may be a curse- a Native American curse, that is. There've been strange deaths occurring in Oasis Plains. Bugs killing people. It may have to do with the Native American skulls I found in an extremely large pile of earthworms." Sam and Dean looked at her surprisedly- she hadn't told them about the earthworms, and they usually didn't just flat out say 'there's a curse' when trying to get information for a case.

Joe seemed to consider what she said for a moment. "I'll tell you what my grandfather told me, what his grandfather told him. Two hundred years ago, a band of my ancestors lived in that valley. One day, the American cavalry came to relocate them. They were resistant, the cavalry impatient. As my grandfather put it, on the night the moon and the sun share the sky as equals, the cavalry first raided our village. They murdered, raped. The next day, the cavalry came again, and the next, and the next. And on the sixth night, the cavalry came one last time. And by the time the sun rose, every man, woman, and child still in the village was dead. They say on the sixth night, as the chief of the village lay dying, he whispered to the heavens that no white man would ever tarnish this land again. Nature would rise up and protect the valley. And it would bring as many days of misery and death to the white man as the cavalry had brought upon his people." Dean glanced at Sam as Joe prepared to finish the story dramatically.

"Insects. Sounds like nature to me." he said quietly. "Six days?"

Joe nodded. "And on the night of the sixth day, none would survive."

* * *

"When did the gas company man die?" asked Sam as they walked back to the car. Dean thought for a moment.

"Uh, let's see, we got here Tuesday, so, Friday the twentieth." Lucille looked at him incredulously.

"How do you _remember_ stuff like that? Oh, and isn't that the spring equinox?" Sam and Dean both nodded.

"The night the sun and the moon share the sky as equals," said Dean.

"So, every year about this time, anybody in Oasis Plains is in danger. Larry built this neighborhood on cursed land." Sam gestured to the area in front of him, even though they were still in Sapulpa- nowhere near Oasis Plains.

"And on the sixth night - that's tonight."

"If we don't do something, Larry's family will be dead by sunrise. So how do we break the curse?" asked Sam, circling around the car to the passenger side. Lucille's eyes widened at the implications as she followed him, getting in the backseat.

"You don't break a curse. You get out of its way. We've gotta get those people out now," said Dean, starting the car. He called Larry about five minutes later.

"Larry Pike? Yes, Mr. Pike, there's a mainline gas leak in your neighborhood." He glanced at Sam.

"Well, it's fairly extensive. I don't want to alarm you, but we need your family out of the vicinity for at least twelve hours or so, just to be safe." Dean paused as Larry said something.

"Travis Weaver. I work for Oklahoma Gas and Power." His eyes grew wide and, panicking, he hung up. Lucille rolled her eyes and pulled her phone out of the front pocket of her jeans. She dialed the number on the slip of paper that Matt had given her earlier that day.

"Hello?" Lucille's smile fell as she realized how panicked he sounded.

"Hey Matt, it's Luci. What's wrong? You sound… scared." She ignored the looks Dean was giving her, her eyebrows furrowed in worry.

"My backyard is crawling with cockroaches." Her eyes widened dramatically.

"Shit. Matt, listen. You have to get your family out of there ASAP. Like, out of Oasis Plains," she said urgently. She bit her lip harshly, but immediately loosened her bite after tasting the distinct metallic tang of blood.

"What? Why?" Lucille leaned her head back and took a deep breath in an attempt to calm down.

"More bugs are coming, Matthew. A _lot_ more." Matt scoffed.

"My dad doesn't listen in the best of circumstances, what am I supposed to tell him?"

"Uh…" She glanced between Sam and Dean, who were staring at her in the rearview mirror. "Well, you obviously can't tell him the truth, so… I guess tell him you need to go to the hospital? Like, say that you puked blood or some shit like that, 'kay?"

Matt hesitated before replying, "Yeah. Yeah, okay." They both hung up. The trio rode the rest of the way to Larry's house in silence, with Dean driving well over the set speed limit.

Dean looked at the car in their driveway as they got out of the Impala.

"Damn it, they're still here. Come on," he said, rushing towards the front door. Lucille and Sam followed him up just as the door swung open. An enraged Larry Pike stormed out, followed by a guilty looking Matt.

"Get off my property before I call the cops," Larry said loudly. He pointed sharply back towards Baby. Lucille stepped back to avoid being poked in the face, frowning irritatedly.

"Mr. Pike, listen," Sam tried.

"Dad. They're just tryin' to help." Matt seemed much more belligerent and rebellious around his father, Lucille noted. Larry turned sharply on his heel towards his son.

"Get in the house!" Larry said angrily. Lucille's fists balled at his tone of voice. It was one that she was used to, although she hadn't heard it in a couple years.

"Hey!" she shouted, drawing his attention back to her. She stepped forward in front of Sam and Dean and glared at the man. "That is _no way_ to speak to your son! He is part of your _family_." Larry seemed to step back in fear as her voice broke. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion as his eyes grew wide.

"Wha- what are you?" he asked, panicked. His voice quivered and shook as he spoke. She looked around to find Matt, Sam, and Dean all staring at her as well.

"Your eyes," Sam said quietly. She cocked her head to the side, still not understanding. "They're… _glowing_."

"I- what?" She glanced at her reflection in the glass door and almost fell over. "What the _Hell_!" Her irises glowed with a bright golden light, which quickly faded. She looked back up as they reverted back to their normal soft green hue. "I- Wha- What just-" She took a deep breath and calmed down. A faint buzzing sound came from her left and her head snapped towards it.

"Everyone get inside," she ordered, a large swarm of insects gathering down the street. " _Now_ ," she said when nobody moved, pointing towards the cloud of bugs. All five of them ran inside with Lucille closing the door behind her. She turned the lock and looked around as Larry's wife, Joanie, walked in. "I'll be back in a minute." She walked away with a composed facade, while she was actually panicking inside. What just happened? Why did her eyes glow?

She found herself in the kitchen and decided to make herself useful instead of just standing there like a complete failure. She dug through the cabinet beneath the sink and came up with two cans of bug spray. She wandered back into the living room and tossed one can to Dean, before glancing back over to the Pikes. Matt and Larry both still seemed scared of her, she noticed with a frown.

"We need a room with minimal entry points," she decided, realizing how non-fourteen-year-oldish she sounded. Reading all of those Men of Letters books must have done wonders for her vocabulary. "Do you have an attic by any chance?" She glanced towards the fireplace, which had begun to hum with bugs, as they nodded. She waved her hand urgently when they continued to stand there. The Pikes quickly caught her meaning and rushed up the stairs.

The Winchesters followed them up into the attic just as a swarm of bugs flooded the house. Lucille was only halfway up the ladder, but Sam and Dean quickly pulled her up. They yanked the door closed, a barrage of insects crashing into the other side. Lucille paced the room, quietly muttering under her breath.

"C'mon, I remember this part… Something about… Right! Okay, they're going to chew through the wood, probably," she announced to the room. She looked up towards the roof to see sawdust falling. She pointed to it. "See? Sam, take this." She tossed a thin, flat board off of some unimportant part of the attic to the younger Winchester. "Dean, here," she said, handing the older brother a long piece of wood that she pried from the attic's supports. She shooed the Pikes back into a corner to hide, a direction that they happily complied with.

"Okay, cover up the hole before they chew all the way through, like, _right now_ , and then find more materials to cover other holes up," she instructed the Winchesters. She turned back to the Pikes, who were still cowering in the corner where she had pushed them. "Ya'll okay?"

"What are you?" Larry asked, his voice stronger than the first time he had asked. Joanie looked at her husband confusedly; they probably hadn't told her what had transpired outside. She bit her lip and pretended to think.

"I'm an angel," she said, a small, mischievous smirk dancing across her face. The upward tilt of her lips fell into a judgemental scowl as Larry scoffed.

"Yeah right. You're some… some demon child!" She put a hand to her chest and mock gasped.

"You know, I might have to smite you for that." She grinned at how easy it was to scare him, before her eyes fell to Matt. She looked down and sighed, seeing his frightened expression. "Relax. I lost all my powers a while back. I don't… I _won't_ do anything." She twisted sharply on her heel at the loud shout behind her. Another hole had been chewed through the roof, and there didn't seem to be anything that they could use to cover it up. A rush of bugs came flooding in, swarming around the humans. Lucille and Dean both uncapped their bug sprays and began spraying the bugs, backing up towards the Pikes to better defend them.

The young girl began to panic as the bugs surrounded them. Her breathing came in short gasps; although any breathing at all was hard, with the risk of swallowing a bug. The air suddenly became almost unbearably warm, and she was fairly certain that she was going the faint at any moment. Her claustrophobia overwhelmed her as they swatted away the bugs. For whatever reason, however, the bugs seemed to target everyone except for her. It was… strange, to say the least.

Just as it seemed all six of them were ready to give up, the bugs began to filter back out of the holes in the roof. Everyone stopped moving for a moment to watch as the insects gathered in one enormous colony in the sky. Then, as soon as she was sure all of them were gone, Lucille rushed back down and out of the house, away from everyone else. Her mind played the events of the past couple of hours on repeat- her eyes, the bugs, everything. She unlocked the car, having pickpocketed the keys from Dean, and sunk into the backseat, eyes closed.

* * *

The next morning the Winchesters plus Lucille left Oasis Plains and began driving back to the bunker. Lucille still hadn't said a word to either of them, which proved to be a difficult feat given how much they bugged her. She wordlessly stepped out of the car once they arrived, walking inside the bunker. She headed directly to her room, slamming her door shut behind her.

Tossing her duffel on the bed, Lucille dramatically flung open the closet doors and pulled out every article of clothing that fit her. Somehow she managed to fit it all in the duffel, alongside everything else that was already in there. She stripped the walls of their drawings and cleared the entire desk out, putting all of that into a second duffel bag from the closet. Ignoring the insistent knocking at her door, she shoved both bags under her bed and collapsed on top of it.

* * *

It wasn't until late that night that she left her room again. Both of the duffels were slung over her shoulders, and she went into each room that wasn't a bedroom to find anything she may need. She stole a few weapons from the weapons room, along with a stack of useful books from the archives. She also grabbed a large sum of money, at least a few thousand dollars. Deciding that that would be enough, she crept up to the garage where several old cars and motorcycles sat, waiting.

Dean had taught her to drive a while back, just in case, and had gotten her a fake driver's license. She now knew how to shoot a gun properly, along with various other weapons.

She snagged the keys for one of her favorite cars- the '57 Chevy- off the hooks at the front of the garage and unlocked the millennial pink car that Dean had restored. Tossing her bags in the back, Lucille closed the trunk back up and frowned sadly. She pulled a small envelope out of her jacket pocket and laid it on the hood of the black Impala before getting into her car.

She left the bunker that night with no intentions of turning back. It was time for her figure all of this out.


	11. After Some Time

**After Some Time**

 **I HAD THIS CHAPTER WRITTEN BUT THEN I REALIZED THAT IT DIDN'T FIT WITH THE TIMELINE AND URGGHHHHGHGHHGHGHGG!11!1!11!1!1!111! Plus, it had Gabriel in it! Maybe I'll add it in later…**

 **Oh my CHUCK. I just realized that I need to fix the timeline on this ENTIRE fanfic. I'll do that before starting on the next in this series.**

 **I just picked up my school scheduleeeeee, yayayay**

 **I'm watching Heathers**

Honestly? She didn't know what she was doing. Most of the next couple months or so were spent finding cases and anonymously calling them in. She had gotten her hands on Bobby Singer's number, and that was usually who she told about them. It was pretty cool to hear the grumpy old hunter's voice in real life. Okay, so maybe it was only over the phone, but who cared? She didn't actually go on any hunts herself, though.

She was constantly on the move, never staying in one place for too long. She tended to avoid Kansas, seeing as that was were the bunker was. She tried not to think about Sam and Dean, and it worked- at least for a couple of months. She often dreamed of them- although most 'dreams' were actually nightmares at this point. She ignored all of the

Then, of course, were the powers.

* * *

 _Lucille stuck her hands in her pockets, pointedly ignoring the man in the gas station store beside her. Pulling about five bars of chocolate bars off the shelf in front of her, she turned and walked up to the front. The man, probably in his fifties, lingered by the candy, watching her move. She quickly paid and got out of the store as fast as she could._

 _The door chimed as she left, then chimed a second time as someone else, presumably the man, followed._

" _Hey girl," he said, trailing after her as she walked to the car. Her pace quickened, but he matched it. "You know, you shouldn't eat all that candy, it might mess up that pretty little body of yours."_

 _Alright, that was it. She whipped around, the angel blade slipping into her hands defensively. Her eyes glowed golden for the second time, the first being when Larry yelled at his son. The man was thrown back by an invisible force, landing flat on his back several yards away. He looked up at her, then quickly began scrambling backwards._

 _Lucille stumbled back in shock, looking at her reflection in the windows of the store. Her eyes widened and she blinked several times, trying to will the glow away. She ran to her car, not sparing a second glance for the man she had quite possibly injured._

* * *

The realization that she could do something like that, of course, led to some rather interesting experiments. For example, the time when she had literally caused a light bulb to explode due to her concentrating so hard on trying to move a pencil.

* * *

" _Huh." She was bored._ Really _bored. She had been investigating a case to see if it was something she could call in, but she currently had some free time._

 _So, naturally, she decided to see if she actually had powers. And, if she did, she wanted to know if there was any chance that she could control them._

 _Looking around for something she could test her multitude of theories on, her eyes came to rest on the yellow #2 pencil that she had been jotting some notes down with. She narrowed her eyes and gazed almost suspiciously at it before hesitantly raising her hand towards it. She spent almost a full minute staring at it, not blinking at all._

 _She jumped as the light bulb in the small lamp beside the motel bed shattered, small pieces of glass flying across the room. Her hands flew up to protect her face from the sharp fragments, several pieces scratching across the bare skin of her arms in the process._

 _She hissed in pain as they cut into her skin, small droplets of blood dripping down her arm._

" _Fuck!" she cursed, looking at the wounds. To her extreme surprise, they began closing up almost immediately. She hastily pulled the splinters of glass out before they finished healing, not wanting the clear material stuck in her arms forever._

* * *

Given this newfound healing ability, she decided to get hurt in every single way she could think of, short of death. Yeah, I know, she's not exactly the brightest.

One thing she discovered was that it took longer to heal depending on the severity of the injury. For example, a paper cut could heal within seconds, while a broken bone took at least a few days. She had considered trying to jump off of a roof at one point, but ultimately decided against it.

Now, she could make her eyes glow at will. Of course, they still lit up whenever she got too emotional, but now it was a lot easier to control. She still wasn't able to make things move, but she was getting there. Probably. Maybe she could track down some sort of friendly monster or angel that had powers like that. What about Gabriel? No, that was a stupid idea.

* * *

Lucille yawned and blearily opened her eyes, looking at her phone. Her tiredness, however, did not last long, as her eyes soon found the date. It was July 4th! Sure, it was a national holiday, and that was cool and all, but that wasn't why it was so important to her. No, it was because she was officially fifteen! Well, she wasn't exactly sure when her birthday was in this timeline, given all of the time jumping.

She was staying in her car for the time being, not having had enough time to find a good motel before sleep overtook her. It was sort of disappointing, spending her birthday morning in a '57 Chevy.

She sat up and bunched up the small blanket laying across her lap, tossing it beside her. Just to mess around a bit, she dove over the front seat and landed with her feet in the air and her head hanging upside down, almost touching the floorboard. Her hair, longer than it had been when she left, fell out of its loose ponytail and pooled on the bottom of the car. She briefly stretched before flipping back up and sliding into the driver's seat.

Lucille slipped the key out of her pocket and into the ignition- she never left it in overnight- and started the car. She was currently just south of Chicago, investigating a series of disappearances. It didn't seem like much, but she was eager for a new case. It could just be some human kidnapper, and if so she could easily just leave it to the police, but it could just as easily be a monster.

She quickly found a small diner, which was pretty rare for this area, and began researching. She had bought a computer almost as soon as she left so that she could do research easier. It proved to be quite useful, seeing how often she had to hack into police databases. She couldn't exactly walk into the station and say she was FBI at her age, so she decided to put the computer skills Sam had taught her to good use.

She smiled at the brunette waitress as she approached the table, closing her computer.

"Hello," the waitress said brightly. "Are you ready to order or would you like a few more minutes?" Lucille glanced at the menu briefly, quickly deciding what to get.

"I'll have the full stack of chocolate chip pancakes, with, uh… Would it be possible to add whipped cream and strawberries? And a side of bacon?" she asked hopefully. The waitress nodded and took the menu from her.

"Of course! That'll be right out. Anything to drink?"

"Hot chocolate, please." The waitress looked at her with amusement sparkling in her eyes.

"Something special happening today? Y'know, other than the Fourth of July?" she asked laughingly. Lucille nodded proudly.

"Today's my birthday," she exclaimed boastfully, tucking her hair behind her ear. The waitress smiled and tipped her head towards Lucille.

"Well then, happy birthday," she said before walking away with the menu. Lucille opened the computer back up, trying to find any useful information. It seemed like none of the missing persons were connected, so the police was a bust. As soon as she was away from the prying eyes of the public, she would check her 2018 phone for anything on Chicago area cases- she faintly remembered something about werewolves and shifters, but that had been in season nine or something. She was still in the time period of season one. To be honest, it had been ages since she had even looked at her old phone.

"Thank you," she said as the waitress brought out the food, looking down at the tall stack of pancakes in front of her. She grinned as she noticed a small green candle burning in the center. "Thank you," she repeated.

"No problem," the short waitress responded, walking back to the kitchens. Lucille hurriedly ate, tuning out the excessive chatter of the other customers.

She paid quickly and rushed out the door, almost tripping on the way out. She reached into her bag in the passenger seat as she slid into the Chevy, digging to the bottom and finding her phone without looking. Glancing outside the windows, she made sure that nobody could see into the car before unlocking it. She pulled up a new tab and searched, 'Supernatural Chicago'.

She frowned as all that showed up were old conventions. She added the word 'episode' to the search and tried again, hoping for better results. _There_ it is.

 _Bloodlines_. Season nine, episode twenty. If she remembered correctly, they were actually going to make it into a spin-off series, with that episode being the pilot. She clicked on the link to the wiki and scanned over it, to refresh her memory. She easily absorbed the information, unlike everything she ever learned in school.

"Okay… maybe I _won't_ call this in," she muttered to herself, reading about the five monster families running Chicago. Apparently they had a minimal amount of casualties, and there probably weren't enough hunters in the world to clear all of the monsters.

Lucille started the Chevy and pulled out of the diner parking lot, stuffing the phone back in her bag and pulling a small journal out. In it was every case she had ever researched or investigated. She had started it about three months into staying with the Winchesters. She had been close to ripping out the pages from back then after she left, but eventually decided against it.

Flipping to the middle of the book, she put a checkmark next to entry that read 'Chicago, Illinois: Disappearances'. Underneath the heading was a list of all information that she had gathered. It wasn't much, but this had been the closest case, geographically, to the last one she had looked into. She flipped to the page before that, scanning over it.

It was a possible case in a place called Garfield County, Utah. She couldn't help but snicker at the name- _Garfield_. She was going to lose it if she saw an orange cat there.

Garfield County was about a day away from Chicago- that is to say, twenty four hours, with no stops in between. So, factoring in time for food and bathroom breaks, plus sleeping, she could probably get there in three, four days, tops.

She absentmindedly reached over to the glovebox as she drove, blindly groping for a lollipop. She didn't even look at it as she unwrapped it and popped it between her lips. Humming, Lucille also pulled out a wrinkled map and unfolded it.

* * *

She stopped at a motel outside a small town that night, having just passed into the state of Nebraska. She checked into room three just as the sun went down. Quickly changing into warmer clothes, she left the moteland began the short walk into the town.

It had been awhile since she had participated in any kind of holiday. She had helped hide Easter eggs for some kids party in Montana back in April, but that was it. There weren't really any large holidays that she could celebrate here, anyway. Father's Day and Mother's Day were out of the question- she may or may not have spent those days thinking about her past life. She had sent Sam a postcard on his birthday, at least. It wasn't much- just a picture of the Seattle Great Wheel and 'Happy birthday, Sam. Sorry I couldn't be there." written on the back, her name signed underneath.

Lucille stuck her hands into her jacket pockets as she found a small gathering of people in the middle of town, lingering towards the edge. In the center of the crowd was an array of fireworks, and it looked like they were about to fire the first one. Her eyes widened happily and a grin split across her face as it whistled through the air and exploding with a loud _bang_ , lilac shimmering in the dark sky. More of different colors followed in its wake, lighting up the air around each one.

Lucille sat on a wooden bench off to the side, smiling sadly at the scene laid out in front of her. Small children chased after each other with bright sparklers gripped tightly in their hands, shrieking with unadulterated glee. She remembered doing the exact same thing back home with her older brothers.

* * *

" _Logan! Landon! Hurry_ up _! Mommy said you have to come play with me!" Lucille called out impatiently from the front porch of their house in California, a slight lisp to her words. She unconsciously ran her tongue through the small gap where her top front tooth had been just a couple weeks before. The short seven year old fidgeted with the large beads around her neck as she waited for her brothers._

" _Ugh,_ fine _," her eleven year old brother, Landon, said, hopping down the stairs. For some reason he had always hated celebrating Independence Day- he claimed it was because it was Lucille's birthday, but she refused to believe that. "Logan'll be down in a minute."_

" _Here," she said, shoving a sparkler into the brunet's hands. She gave the oldest of the three, Logan, one as he left the house before leading them down to the beach, where their parents were waiting. She giggled excitedly as her mom lit each of the sparklers, eagerly taking hers back._

 _Swishing the sparkler in the air, she grinned. She held it out from her body and spun in a tight circle. She shrieked as she fell over from dizziness, the world spinning around her. She pouted as she sat up, picking up the discarded sparkler. The light at the tip of the stick had gone out, having fallen in the wet sand next to the ocean._

 _Logan immediately rushed to her side, crouching down next to her. He pressed his own sparkler into her hands and smiled gently. She smiled back shakily as he brushed her long hair out of her face, letting him help her to her feet. Rubbing her teary eyes, the young girl thanked her brother before proceeding to chase him around the long stretch of sand._

 _Lucille yawned as the two remaining sparklers- hers and Landon's- burned out, sitting down cross-legged on the beach. She pulled Logan down next to her, climbing into the fourteen year old's lap. Landon and their parents soon joined them, and they spent the rest of the evening watching the fireworks._

* * *

Two days later, she pulled up behind a crime scene in Garfield County, Nebraska. She quickly checked for police cars out front, and, not finding any, picked the lock on the back door. She ducked inside and grimaced at the grotesque scene. Blood was spattered around the living room, small chunks of _something_ mixed in. She forced down the bile rising in her throat and checked her notes.

This was the fourth case of murder in the last two weeks. Each time, it was a woman who suddenly went crazy, killing her husband or boyfriend with her own hands. No weapon, all nails. None of the women seemed to have any recollection of what happened after the fact. Lucille suspected it was a simple salt-and-burn case, but she wanted to cover all her bases. That meant checking out the crime scene for anything suspicious, which was what she was doing right now.

She checked every single place she could think of that could possibly hold a hex bag. In cabinets, under the mattress, in jacket pockets- she even looked in the dishwasher. That ruled out witches. She jumped as she heard the front door unlocking.

Looking around frantically, she found that there wasn't enough time for her to get out of the house before whoever was unlocking the door came in. She darted into the back bedroom and quietly shut the door behind her, locking it. She heard faint talking on the other side of the door and began panicking. It sounded like the police. Why did her life have to be so cliche? Kid breaks into place they're not supposed to be, police come in, kid hides in some really obvious place- it was like the beginning of a really bad movie.

She flung open the window above the bed and prepared to climb out as the voices came closer. Her hand brushed against a small pile of yellow powder on the window sill. She frowned and brought her hand closer, sniffing the substance. She wrinkled her nose.

"C'mon," she complained quietly. "Demons? _Really_?" She grunted softly as she landed flat on her back outside the window. She wasn't quite sure how exactly she had managed to get in that position. Her eyes widened as the conversation inside froze, footsteps coming closer to the window. She rolled as close to the wall as she could, praying that they didn't look down.

She released the breath she didn't know she had been holding as the talking resumed. The people were walking away, from what she could tell. Lucille stood up quietly and walked back to her car, which was parked on the street next to the alleyway she had landed in.

Checking into a dirty motel, she quickly dialed Bobby Singer's number and waited for him to pick up.

"Singer's Salvage Yard," said the gruff voice on the other end. Lucille grinned.

"Hey, Singer. I got a case you can give to someone," she said playfully. She could practically hear him roll his eyes.

"You again," he muttered. "Alright, whad'ya got?" He probably didn't think very highly of her(she could be rather obnoxious), and he probably thought that she was a little young to be a hunter(he made her tell him her age the first time she called- she still refused to tell him her name in case of contact with the Winchesters), but all her information always checked out, so he tolerated her. That was something that Lucille was happy about, because she didn't think she could stand it if the famous Bobby Singer didn't like her.

"Garfield County, Utah. Demonic possession, wife seems to go crazy and murders her husband," she summarized.

"Garfield? Like the-" Lucille snickered, cutting him off.

"Yeah, like the cat. So, uh, get one of your hunters down here before anyone else is brutally murdered. I checked out one of the crime scenes, seemed pretty nasty."

Bobby's tone immediately grew sharper. " _What_ do you think you're doing, girl? Goin' out somewhere ya ain't supposed to be? Someone could'a seen ya!" She grinned sheepishly despite the fact that he couldn't see her.

"Uh… yeah. Okay. I'll keep that in mind. Tell whoever is on the case that all the info will be…" She peered out the window of the motel room. "In the planter in front of room 18 of the Redmarch Motel." It was about five rooms down from hers, just in case she couldn't get out of the county before they showed up. She didn't want anyone to see her, just in case Sam and Dean had put out a hunter APB on her and it was still up.

"And you can't give it to them yourself _why_?" Bobby asked. Lucille rolled her eyes at his ignorance.

"I told you before, old man. I used to run with a couple of hunters before they ditched me. I've been on my own since," she lied, trying not to think about the Winchesters. She longed to see them again, but she was afraid of what their reactions would be to seeing her after so long.

" _Bye_ , Singer," she said loudly over whatever he was saying. "I'll call if I find another case!" She sighed and hung up, gathering all of the information for the hunt.

She had just stepped out the door, case files in hand, when two strong arms wrapped around her from behind. One of the hands reached to cover her mouth, which had opened in a (now muffled) scream, while the other pinned her flailing arms to her sides. Lucille twisted around in the man's grip, trying to free herself from him. The papers scattered around the motel parking lot, long forgotten.

Her left foot flew up behind her, landing a blow on the man's crotch. That moved only managed to piss him off further, although he did seem to flinch. As a last resort, Lucille's tongue darted out and licked the man's hand. He drew the hand back and shook it off in disgust, before quickly covering her mouth again as a short burst of sound escaped her.

The last thing that Lucille thought as something hard hit her over the head, effectively knocking her out, was, _Well, shit._


	12. TORTURE

**TORTURE**

 **Heheh please don't kill me. SORRY I WAS GONE FOR SO LONG! I had, you know, school, mental breakdowns, the usual.**

 **Wait do people actually read this**

 **Thank you, AJ Granger for pointing out all the massive plot holes in my story!(read: Fuck you) No, but seriously, thank you so much. I probably wouldn't have noticed half of those things without you pointing them out. I'm actually going to go back and fix them after this chapter!**

 **That being said, I may not post again for up to a month. I'll try my best to update, but I'll be fairly busy going back and fixing everything. I also have school, so… I may be adding another chapter back towards the beginning, so you can go back and read that if you want when I post it. It's not that important, it's just more details on the pilot episode hunt.**

 **I'm debating on when to have her rejoin the Winchesters, I have three different really good ideas**

 **I might add in some different point of views now that we're starting season two soon**

 **Please review, I'm desperate**

Lucille woke up in a dimly lit room, the only source of light being a small, flickering light bulb hanging high above her head. Lengths of rope bound her wrists, ankles, and torso to an uncomfortable wooden chair. The clicheness of this whole situation disgusted her. She lifted her head and glared into the empty room, attempting to tug her arms out of the restraints. She hissed in pain as the coarse rope cut into her already raw wrists. Chancing a look down at them, she cringed at the pink marks underneath the rope. Luckily, she still had her jacket on, but the sleeves had slipped up slightly to expose her tan skin. She sighed in relief, feeling the cool touch of the angel blade against her skin. How stupid were these kidnappers to leave the kidnapee with a weapon? _Complete failures,_ Lucille thought, snickering internally.

Her head snapped up at the sound of a small chuckle from across the room. The muscles in her neck screamed in protest, having gotten used to the position that she had been unconscious in. She ignored the pain in favor of concentrating on the tall man in front of her. He had an entirely black outfit from what she could tell, although that may have just been because of the terrible lighting. He had short blond hair that faintly reminded her of the older Winchester. She scowled as her brain unhelpfully supplied that comparison- Dean would never do this to her.

And his face- it was hideous. No, his human face, that was decent looking, almost handsome. But beyond that- it was like the human part was a transparent mask, covering a dark, twisted _thing_. A demon, she realized. She recoiled back into the chair and attempted to make herself as small as possible as he took a step closer to her.

"I will smite you, you stupid son of a bitch," she seethed at him. He laughed mockingly.

"I'd like to see you try," he called out.

The man began walking closer, but instead of stopping in front of her, continued to her left. She twisted in her restraints, her eyes widening as she caught sight of a small metal table. Strewn across it in a neat, precise fashion were multiple objects that she assumed would be extremely painful. The demon seemed to carefully consider each weapon before picking up a short, jagged knife. Lucille considered screaming for help, but that would probably just encourage the demon. Besides, it was highly unlikely that anyone would actually hear her.

She flinched and looked away as the demon suddenly pointed the knife towards her.

"So… the Winchester's little _pet_ ," he said, smirking. She felt the cold bite of the tip of the knife trail leisurely over her cheek as he circled around the chair, coming to a stop directly in front of her. She met his eyes defiantly, determined not to look away again.

"I'm not their _pet_ ," she spat back, baring her teeth in an expression akin to a snarl. "I haven't spoken to them in _months_ , asshat." She inhaled sharply as the demon pressed the sharp tip of the knife against her upper leg.

"You little _bitch_!" The demon laughed. She bit her lip in pain as the blade cut through the fabric of her jeans and easily pierced her skin.

"Oh, how I _wish_ I could just _dig_ this knife into your-" He quickly cut himself off. "Well, as much as I'd like to, the boss wants you intact." Lucille's eyebrows raised dramatically and she mockingly gasped.

"Somebody actually wants me alive? Oh, how touching!" she said sarcastically, tossing her head to the side to get her hair out of her face. She breathlessly screamed in pain as the demon drove the knife deeper into her leg. The demon, however, stumbled back, his eyes wide and his hair standing straight up, like he had been electrocuted.

Lucille glanced down at her restraints- each rope was fried, and the wooden chair was completely charred. Ignoring the pain in her leg where the knife was lodged, she yanked her arms free. The ashy remains of the rope fell to the floor and she stood before the demon could regain his balance. She gritted her teeth, the muscles in her leg burning. Blood flowed freely from the wound as she stepped forwards, soaking the dark fabric of her jeans. She covered the wound with her hand as best she could with the knife still stuck in her thigh.

"That was a nice little _trick_ you got there, girl," the demon said harshly, righting himself. "If I could, you'd already be dead," he bit out, stepping towards her. She glared mutinously up at him as he looked down on her, grinning viciously. They stood toe-to-toe, neither of them making a move for a moment.

The demon's hand suddenly darted up, wrapping tightly around Lucille's neck. She made a small choking noise, pulling her hand off of her leg to scrabble at the hand around her throat. She suddenly remembered the angel blade stashed up her sleeve and willed it into the hand that wasn't grappling with the demon's while he was distracted. Her eyes widened as the grip on her throat tightened, drawing her chin in as close to her neck as possible. She lifted the angel blade and drove it into the man's side, right below his ribcage. The constricting hold around her neck slackened as the demon's internal organs and bones were illuminated from inside with a bright orange light. His mouth opened in a wordless scream and he collapsed, falling backwards with the blade still imbedded in his side.

Lucille grinned weakly as the adrenaline wore off, the pain in her leg coming back. "Told you I would smite you," she muttered before promptly fainting.

* * *

Lucille groaned as she came to, sitting up. She almost immediately winced and laid back down, her entire body sore. Her eyes shot open as she heard someone choke back a laugh across the room. Wait- room? She struggled back into a sitting position and looked around defensively. She was in a motel room similar to her own, the decor only slightly different. Her eyes quickly found the source of the noise she had heard earlier.

A woman with cropped brown hair, probably in her mid-forties, sat in a chair with a floral print over near the window, staring at Lucille with barely disguised amusement in her chocolate eyes. In her hands sat the younger girl's angel blade, which she set off to the side and stood up. Lucille's eyes passed over her outfit as she stepped forwards. Green flannel, a leather jacket of the same color, distressed jeans, and black combat boots.

"Careful there," she said, crossing the room to beside the bed Lucille was laying on. Her voice had a slight southern accent, which she found oddly comforting. It reminded her of her mom. "Don't want to rip the stitches."

Lucille's eyes widened and she looked down at her leg. It looked like the woman had torn off the entire leg of her pants to patch up the stab wound. White gauze was wound tightly around her thigh.

"Who are you?" Lucille asked cautiously, subconsciously scooting away from her as she drew nearer.

"The name's Anne," she said. "I'm something called a hunter. I hunt things like ghosts, demons, vampires- you know, the paranormal. They're not just myths. The thing that kidnapped you? A demon." The woman- Anne, apparently, looked like she was waiting for a reaction. She obviously didn't know that Lucille was the one who had called it in. It probably wouldn't do Bobby's reputation any good if they knew that the cases he handed out were found by a teenager, so the fact that she wasn't aware was actually pretty reasonable. Well, Lucille decided, now is as good a time as any to ruin his rep.

"I know," she said, tentatively reached up and prodding the bruises that formed hand shapes around her neck. She hissed in pain- they hadn't fully healed yet. "I'm the one that found the case. I told Bobby Singer about it, and I'm guessing he passed it on to you." Anne looked impressed.

"Damn," she exclaimed, looking down approvingly at the small 'angel'. "He didn't tell me a kid found it." Lucille scowled and crossed her arms across her chest.

"I'm not a kid," she complained. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and attempted to stand up. She managed to take a single step before falling unsteadily back onto the bed. Anne leaned forward and gently pushed her back into a sitting position before walking back to the floral chair.

She grabbed her flip phone from the table beside the chair and quickly dialed a number. Lucille looked at her curiously as she waited impatiently for the person to pick up.

"Bobby!" she said brightly into the phone. "Well, the demon's dead." She paused as the old hunter on the other end said something that Lucille couldn't hear.

"Yeah, well, about that…" she said slowly. " _I_ didn't kill it." Her gaze hardened as she stared at the floor, listening to Bobby say something else.

"You want to know who killed the goddamn demon? The teenage girl you have out looking for cases that got _kidnapped_ and _stabbed!_ " she practically shouted into the receiver. Anne's eyes widened comically as Bobby replied to her outburst, looking over to Lucille. "Now is _that_ true? Right away, Singer." She hung up the phone and crossed the room back to Lucille's side. "Alright, girl, let's go."

She hooked her arms under Lucille's and helped the younger girl stand. Lucille looked at her confusedly as she walked her to the door.

"Go where?" she asked, her voice small. The hunter looked at her disapprovingly.

"To Bobby's house. He's done with this whole 'anonymous teen' act." Lucille sighed resignedly. She knew that there was really no way to avoid their meeting at this point, but she didn't really wanted to. Okay, maybe she did, but… Well, there wasn't really any reason she could think of that not to go. She just wanted to interfere with recurring and main characters' lives as little as possible. Thinking back, that may have been one of the subconscious reasons that she had left in the first place. "Speaking of anonymous, what's your name, kid?"

"Luci- Er, Lucille," she said automatically, almost instantly regretting the split-second decision to give her real name. She was going to just say Luci, but her brain, apparently, had decided that 'Lucille' was a more hunter-esque name.

"Well, _Lucille_ , let's go," Anne insisted, a sharper bite to her tone that a moment ago.

"Fine. I'll go gather my stuff," she said grumpily, pulling away from the older girl. She leaned on the wall heavily for an alternative method of support and pulled the door open, peering out on the nearly empty parking lot. The papers she had dropped when she was grabbed were no longer strewn across the pavement- Anne must have gathered them when she arrived. She noticed that it was pretty dark outside, so it was at least five hours since she had been taken.

"How long was I out?" she asked curiously. The older girl crossed her arms over her chest and cocked her head to the side, eyes narrowed in an analyzing expression.

"Almost a full day. Well, since I found you in that warehouse. Before that? No idea," Anne replied calmly. Her eyes widened and she almost fell over. A _day?_

"Holy crap," she muttered, walking out into the empty parking lot. Well _that_ explained her aching stomach.

Lucille made her way back to her motel room with Anne trailing slowly behind, most likely making sure that she didn't just run off or anything. She found the door to be unlocked(she hadn't locked it when she was kidnapped), and walked inside. Her stuff was still exactly as she left it, which was somewhat surprising. She had expected at least _someone_ to go through her crap- Anne, the demon, some random thief. The door _was_ unlocked, after all.

Anne remained in the doorway as Lucille gathered what was hers and stuffed it in her bag. Lucille glanced over her shoulder at the older hunter with a pair of jeans and a new shirt folded over her arm.

"Could you, um…" She gestured awkwardly to the clothes in her hand, and then the door. Anne nodded and stepped outside the motel room. Lucille hurriedly changed, wincing as she pulled the fresh pair of jeans over the gauze wrapped around her leg. She and Anne both checked out of the motel.

"I can drive myself," Lucille said when Anne opened the passenger door of her truck to her, waving her hand towards her own '57 Chevy.

"Alright," Anne responded, closing the car door. "I'm watching you, so don't think for a second that you can just drive off." She entered her number into the young girl's phone so that they could communicate without having to pull over. In her phone were four other numbers- Sam's, Dean's, Bobby's, and another unnamed hunter. Bobby had given the number to her as an emergency contact, but had to go before he got around to telling her their name. He still hadn't gotten around to telling her the mystery hunter's identity, so the name in her phone was currently 'Random Hunter'.

Lucille paused, suddenly realizing something. She walked to her car and pretended to place her bag in the backseat. She quietly unzipped the duffel and pulled a small water bottle out, uncapping it.

She quickly twisted on her heel, throwing her arm out towards the other lady. Anne spluttered as the holy water dripped down her skin, wiping it away with her sleeve.

"Smart." Lucille nodded to herself as if confirming something before putting the half-empty bottle away.

"By the way, can I have the an- that knife back?" she asked, referring to the angel blade that was sitting in the backseat of Anne's trunk. Anne picked it up and looked over it for a second before holding it out.

Lucille carefully took it back by the blade and set it in her duffel, not wanting to slip it up her sleeve for fear of showing she had experience with it. That would just lead to more questions about it, which she really wasn't in the mood for at the moment.

"What?" she asked somewhat defensively at Anne's questioning look.

"Where'd you get that?" Lucille hesitating, coming up with a suitable answer.

"I just picked it up from the demon's tools and hoped it would kill the black eyed son of a bitch. Since you brought it back, I figure I'll keep it. You know, for sentimental reasons." She gave her a cheeky grin.

* * *

The left an hour later, after they had eaten in that town. They drove for seven hours straight, only stopping for gas. She had considered pulling away from the highway and putting as much distance between her and Anne as she could, but she had full confidence in the fact that Bobby would be able to track her now that he had a face to put the voice to.

Lucille absentmindedly reached into the passenger seat as her phone rang and flipped it open, pressing it to her ear.

"Hey," she said into the receiver. She changed lanes so that she could stay right behind Anne's red Ford, squinting against the bright morning sun. It had risen a little over an hour ago, and was still fairly low in the sky.

"Hey, kid." Why did everyone insist on calling her a kid? "You up for some breakfast?" Lucille grinned at the prospect of food, her stomach growling in anticipation.

"Sure," she said, putting the phone on speaker and setting it beside her. "Where?"

"I think there's a town just off the next exit, we can grab something there." Lucille nodded to herself and hung up, following the large truck in front of her down an exit. She glanced at the sign as they passed it briefly- something in the 170's. Buildings began to dot the side of the road, mostly small places like barbershops and car repairs.

Her eyes hovered over a large sign welcoming them to Manning, Colorado. Manning… The name of the town tugged at a memory in the very back of her mind, buried under almost a full year of life changing experiences. Maybe it was something from the show… Well, she would check later.

Lucille followed Anne into a diner parking lot, ducking out of the front seat of the Chevy. She leaned back in an awkward attempt to read the name of the diner, but she was too close to properly see it. The older hunter stopped in the doorway of the diner to stare at her, an eyebrow raised at her childish behavior. Lucille blushed and limped inside, muttering a quick "thank you" as Anne held the door open for her. The limp was mostly just for show, though. Sure, it still hurt like a bitch when she put too much pressure on her leg, but she was perfectly capable of walking normally.

They found a booth in the corner of the small diner, Lucille sitting on the side closer to the door. Quickly ordering, Lucille answered Anne's questions to the best of her abilities without revealing too much.

"So, why're you out hunting by yourself at this age?" she asked, intrigued. Lucille considered the question for a moment before going with one of the most common reasons for hunting.

"Well, a werewolf attacked my parents and my older brother when I was ten, and a hunter took me in." Fake sadness crept into her voice, vying for pity. It evidently worked, Anne's expression softening. "He, uh, he passed away last year on a wendigo hunt." A somber look passed over her face, and she made a show of wiping away nonexistent tears. It had taken her a moment to think of a good creature to have killed her fake hunter, but she quickly remembered the first time she was in actual danger with the Winchesters.

"I'm sorry, hun," said Anne with a pitying tone. Lucille nodded sadly before placing her hands in her lap, staring at the long fingers.

"It's fine," she replied shortly. "Everyone has to die sometimes." Anne nodded with a knowing look. _Oh my Chuck, I am_ so _overdoing this._

"Looks like our food is coming out," she said, looking at a point over Lucille's shoulder. The younger girl twisted in her seat to see a waitress with three plates balanced on her arms walking towards them. Her eyes followed the woman until she reached their table.

"Here you go," the waitress said, setting the plates down in front of the duo. "A sausage and bacon omelette with a side of pancakes for you," she said to Anne. "And an egg white vegetable omelette for the little lady!" She smiled brightly at Lucille, who forced a smile back. She was much too exhausted for this kind of peppiness. "Need anything else?"

Both women(if Lucille could be considered a woman at this point, and not just a girl) shook their head at the inquiry and turned to their food as the waitress walked away. Lucille's thoughts drifted to the television show she was currently in, her mind making up for the absence of conversation. Her eyes widened exponentially as Anne's name reminded her of something. Anna Milton!

"Shit," she said quietly to herself. She was just now realizing everything she could prevent with her knowledge. How old was Anna now, anyway? She had to be, what, twenty? Fifteen at the least.

"Hm?" she heard Anne ask faintly. She glanced up and waved her away with a quick "nothing".

"I'm done," she said, pushing her plate away.

Anne looked up as Lucille pulled her wallet out of her back pocket, frowning. "I can pay for the both of us!" The younger hunter slowly put the folded leather material away, smiling uncertainly.

"Thanks," she responded quietly. "I'll pay you back." Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion as Anne rolled her eyes.

"Don't worry about it, hon," the huntress said, digging her own wallet out of her jacket. "You're just a kid, you don't cost much."

"Sorry, I just… it's been awhile since anyone did anything nice for me." Chuck, that sounded so _sappy._ Her eyes were cast downwards as she spoke, the truth in her words stinging.

"Hon," Anne began, "You ain't on your own anymore. We're gonna go up to Bobby's, _together_ , and we'll figure out what to do from there. But trust me, no kid's gonna be out hunting on their own if I have any say in it."

* * *

Lucille stopped in her tracks as they made their way back to their cars parked out in front of the diner. A man, easily as tall as Dean, if not taller, was ducking out of a black GMC Sierra Grande. Her eyes widened and it seemed like her feet were frozen to the spot.

Of course, the town that they stopped in just _had to be_ the one place with John fucking Winchester.


End file.
